


Paramnesia

by PeterTheProblematic (GoWithHappiness)



Series: Mutually Assured Destruction [1]
Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoWithHappiness/pseuds/PeterTheProblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paramnesia<br/> (n.) a condition or phenomenon involving distorted memory or confusions of fact and fantasy, such as confabulation or déjà vu.<br/>--</p><p>I thought back to his cold expression, and the way he seemed genuinely annoyed to find me in his proximity, as though I were a personal insult to him, and it was infuriating how easily I could recall his name then. How could I have forgotten someone who was so especially talented at getting under my skin?</p><p>His name was Peter Hayes, and I was certain that I hated him.</p><p>--</p><p>Set in an alternate universe where the Bureau decides to use the memory serum for a mass reset before Dauntless and Erudite can ever set out to attack the Abnegation, choosing to erase the memory of the Edith Prior video from existence and redefine the experiments in a last ditch effort to bring about results. This will be a three part series. Updates every Tuesday.</p><p>--</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any characters or plot devices from the Divergent series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voorpret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here goes - this one will be pretty long, I've noticed in our small ship that we have a decent amount of fantastic hookup fics but nothing with a big, long winded story behind it. I want to see if I can't do that - plus, I like torturing myself. Please keep the Petris bashing out of the comments - I know the majority of this fandom aren't into the ship, but don't ruin it for those of us that are.
> 
> I'd love feedback, if you feel I'm not portraying a character correctly or if you'd like to see something happen (or even your speculations on what will happen) - your support helps to motivate me! As of right now I have a goal to update chapters once a week, usually every Wednesday. 
> 
> I wanna send out a big thanks to [Jess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kirbyshinigami) and Dem for helping me out with the plot and being my betas. I adore you both. I know next to nothing about the processes one takes to become a police officer, so I have to thank Dem for all the helpful information on that, as well!
> 
> So without further adieu, let's get this started shall we?
> 
> \--
> 
>  **Voorpret**  
>  (n) Pre-fun, the sense of enjoyment felt before a party or event takes place.

My fingers were poised just above the keys as a blank screen stared me down without mercy. I couldn’t remember hating an inanimate object more in my life than I did in that moment. I was sure  I’d been there for, at least, half of the afternoon, where I’d typed and erased ten different introductory paragraphs, but nothing had sounded right. I was slowly circling into insanity. I grunted in frustration and pushed away from the desk, pressing my palms hard against my eyes in an attempt to block out the blank paper that was taunting me. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, why I was so distracted - normally I had no problem writing these types of assignments - but I just couldn’t get anything that sounded right.The words just wouldn’t come out, regardless of my efforts. Finally I dropped my hands from my face and shot the computer a nasty look, as though this was all the fault of a machine, not my own shortcomings. It was a ridiculous notion, but it made me feel better.

“If you’re not going to cooperate then I don’t need you, anyway,” I grumbled, feeling childish in my anger, before pushing the power button a little harder than necessary, just out of spite. Watching the screen turn black made me feel worse than I already did - through the reflective surface I was able to see that my door was open and I had a visitor. Great.

“Thought you were writing a paper?” I groaned at her voice, spinning my chair around to glare at the knowing face of my dearest friend and greatest annoyance, which was currently twisted into a playful smirk. It was just like her to sneak up on me in my moment of weakness.

“I was. I’m uh..I’m finished with it, now.” My response was weak - I knew it and so did she, but I had nothing better to say in my defense. leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms, watching her as she let herself into my room and sat on my bed, but it was difficult to look stern while wearing bed slippers. I doubt she’d take anyone seriously in my attire - let alone me. She must have thought similarly to me, because a look of amusement filled her eyes and I knew she didn’t believe me one bit. I have no idea how or why, but for as long as I’d known her, Christina had been this crazy walking lie detector who constantly called me on my bullshit. I’d grown to love it for the most part, but in moments like this it could be infuriating. She raised her brow, but didn’t contradict me - instead she clasped her hands together and appeared pleased with herself. That look usually meant I wouldn’t like the next words that came out of her mouth, but who knew, maybe I’d be wrong for a change, maybe she’d have some amazing words of wisdom.

“So - that means you’re free now, doesn’t it?”  

Guess not.

The look on her face was enough to make my heart plummet down into my stomach - I was reminded, suddenly, as to why I’d been here in the first place, determined to write my paper. Alarm bells were blaring, warning me to come up with an excuse quickly, but unfortunately my brain and my mouth didn’t seem to be working together, so I was left with nothing. I sighed in defeat, hanging my head. Admittedly, there was some - very small - part of me that was eager for a change of scenery. The girl in me who craved spontaneity was screaming to be let out. Maybe, I thought, I could give her what she wanted for a change. Where was the harm in it? College was nearly over for me and, sure, I’d managed to fight off the stress and the insane amount of work, but in the process I’d successfully isolated myself from any kind of social life that didn’t involve studying. Since I’d started the university three and a half years ago, I'd made exactly four friends, and, while I had managed to learn a handful of my fellow classmates’ names, that was as far as it went. I could sit and blame all that on a lot of things - wanting to focus on my goals, keeping up my grades, so on and so forth - but it was more than that. Maybe it was time to admit that to myself.

Somehow, I’d gone from arguing with a desktop computer to battling myself over the anxiety of being in a crowd and the disappointment of staying in once again while Christina went out and had fun. I considered, for a few moments, taking the low road and hiding indoors - in not taking risks so close to the end of the semester - it was long enough for me to know, with clear certainty, that I absolutely did not want to do that. I didn’t want to be a coward for the rest of my life. Something about staying in, solely because I was afraid of what could happen, made me feel like I was betraying someone - or something - it made me feel small, useless. I hated it. That undefinable something sparked a familiar ball of fire in my gut. Determination. Was I really going to be weak willed and let the anxiety that I’d come to associate with fun control me forever? With a burst of confidence that I couldn’t quite recognize as my own, I looked up and smiled at Christina. I was still sitting in my desk chair in my pajamas, but it was a start. She grinned back at me.

* * *

 

“I suppose it does.”

As I was faced with my reflection, I recalled for about the fifteenth time since agreeing to go out, why I’d been avoiding all of this. Christina’s makeovers were always a little overbearing. As usual where mirrors, or really any reflective surface, were concerned, I felt an inexplicable pull in my gut that told me to look away – but I stared into my own eyes defiantly, tonight I was being strong, and that was as much a part of it as anything else. As a stipulation for our night out, she made me agree to let her choose my outfit, after all what did I know about being presentable in public? This apparently included the need for makeup. She had argued that I never let her do this anymore and, rather than try to worm my way out, I had accepted defeat. Now I was having second thoughts.

My eyes were lined with dark makeup and my hair was loose, falling in a halo of gold around my face artfully. Christina had teased it up so that it looked playfully messy, intentionally tussled. It cascaded neatly around my shoulders in a way I’d never be able to replicate alone. The color contrast brought out the blue in my usually cloudy eyes. I hardly recognized the girl with the severe eyes and clothes that clung to, rather than hid, any hint of curves she might have had, as myself. I considered complaining that the top was cut lower than I’d have liked, that the jeans were just on the side of too tight, but I swallowed the words instead. Something about the fact that she’d dressed me in all black made me feel powerful - I didn’t want to lose that feeling. As I took another moment to examine my features, a phrase bubbled to the surface in a voice I knew wasn’t my own. _You’re..striking._ I got the feeling that Christina had said those words to me before - she probably had, it sounded like something she’d say - but I couldn’t find the memory those words belonged to.

“Oh come on, don’t look so stoic, Tris. It’s not like we’re going off to battle. You and I haven’t gone out in _ages_ \- at least pretend you’re excited. ” Christina snapped me out of my reverie, rolling her eyes. For some reason the phrase made my stomach turn, rather than eliciting laughter as it probably should have. Something felt so..wrong about it. Out of place. I couldn’t quite shake the effect her words had on me, but rather than linger on it, I lifted my chin a bit higher and followed her out of the bathroom without another glance at the girl in the mirror we were leaving behind. My turmoil slowly began to fade.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try my best to be at least a little fun tonight,” I offered, though I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t end up leaving early to be alone. Christina beamed a smile my way, lacing her arm through mine, so it must have been good enough for her. It was easy to relax into her friendly embrace, even if I still felt a strange twinge in my stomach at how easily she touched people. We stepped outside into the last rays of the evening, the scene was comforting compared to the unforgiving screen I’d been staring at for the last few hours, and it helped my mood almost immediately. I vowed to myself that I would try to be positive tonight. Emphasis on try.

All around us there were students going to and from classes or gathering for a night out on the edge of campus, chattering happily to one another. Christina and I stopped to do a double check for wallets and keys to the apartment. Once we were positive that we’d gotten everything, she took the lead, all but dragging me down the sidewalk with our arms still linked. Her free hand was a flurry of motion as she rapidly responded to, and read over texts. I found myself wondering how she managed that so easily in one hand, but didn’t bother to ask. The thought occurred to me that I should try texting more - actually send more than a few brief messages - then I’d get the hang of it.

“Will said he and Al would meet us at the Pit.” I tried not to focus on the bubble of tension growing in my chest at the thought of all the people I'd soon be sharing space with, smiling in her direction instead - I hoped she couldn’t see through to my nervousness. It must have been convincing enough, because she returned it easily, looking forward again without any hesitation.

“That’s good – It’ll be nice to hang out with them again,” I was surprised to find that I meant it. I missed my friends. Fear and anxiety mingled together with a hint of anticipation at this point and I was practically vibrating from the mixture. Christina grinned from ear to ear, sending another text before tucking her phone away for good. She turned to look at me then, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. It was comforting.

“It’s great that you’re coming out tonight, Tris, we’ve missed you,” Her tone was surprisingly serious, which left me thinking that maybe I’d been worrying her - I made a silent promise to myself that I’d work on that, I didn’t want anyone who cared about me to feel distressed just because social outings made me uncomfortable. The thought didn’t sit right with me.

“Yeah well, who else is going to keep you from drinking your wallet, or more realistically _Will’s_ wallet, down the drain?” I teased with a laugh, looking around me at how everyone else seemed so happy and comfortable. It helped to make me feel better - like their good moods could rub off on me. The light, by now, was an almost golden color from the sunset, and there was the faintest hint of a chill on the breeze. I could taste the beginning of summer in the air. Then the stench of cigarette smoke met my senses and it was gone. My chest tightened up and I felt the doubts come creeping in from all sides again - the apprehension. I could still turn back, if I wanted to. _Breathe Tris._

Suddenly Christina craned her neck, so I did the same, looking up at what should have been just another skyscraper, covered in windows that reflected the world around us – but there was more to the building than its shiny exterior. I’d only been there once before, but I easily remembered every detail - how unusual it had been. Now that we’d arrived at our destination, I felt a tingle run down my spine, to the tips of my fingers - I felt eager. I was surprised to find that my apprehension had been traded in for eager excitement - the combination of that feeling with my mingling fears was making it hard to breathe. I was ready to burst in those doors and back into an environment I had no reason to miss the way I did in that moment. I could tell that Christina felt the same giddiness I was experiencing - we rushed forward as a pair, clinging to one another.

Despite my sudden enthusiasm, I was quietly battling with the meek part of myself that still wanted to run away from the steady stream of bodies around us, to take the easy way out. The part of me that craved freedom was filled with rage at the mere suggestion of hiding - of not facing my fears. More easily than I expected to, I gave into the heat in my veins and pushed myself further inside, letting my adventurous side win. Just like the first time I’d been here over a year or so ago, I found myself among a crowd of people that ranged from total strangers to faces I'd seen around campus; _un_ like the first time, an overwhelming sense of familiarity crashed into me, catching me off guard and taking my breath. I knew it was abnormal to feel so strongly about somewhere I’d only ever been in _once,_ but I savored the rush of emotion that this place caused in me all the same. Being there felt good, really, really good. That terrified me - it thrilled me _._ I was home.

I walked mechanically through the lobby, heading further down the rabbit hole before we finally came to a suspended staircase that separated the top portion of the building from the part I was really eager to get to. The floor of the uppermost part of the building was entirely glass, allowing for a view of the unique counterpart below, the actual club. It was bustling with activity, unsurprisingly. We finally made it down the first set of stairs and onto a secondary flight that was slightly rougher. This set of stairs had been carved out of the side of the wall – everything changed from being clean and organized to rough, rustic, and feral as we left the top portion of the building. I fell in love with it all over again as I drank in my surroundings. The walls were rock, and carved into them were nooks and crannies filled with pool tables and booths for anyone who didn’t feel like staying at the bar or dancing down on the main floor.

Protruding from the walls were railings - shiny, metal, and new. Something inside of me protested at the sight - it told me that they didn’t belong in this place, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. Obviously such a dangerous building, designed for inebriated people, required safety features to keep patrons from careening onto the floor from the ledges. Elsewise they’d all be dead or have broken limbs by this point. I tried to shake the feeling of irritation while simultaneously opting not to use the railings by the stairs, moving quickly as pebbles scattered beneath my feet. I watched as Christina jumped off of the third to last step  into the arms of a sturdy blonde with a familiar crease between his brows. It was impossible to tell his eye color in the dim lighting, but I knew from years of experience that they were a soft, jade green - Will. Behind him stood another man, nearly a foot taller and impossible to ignore in a crowd. He had a mop of brown hair on his head and wide brown eyes to match. If it weren’t for the fact that he was incapable of keeping eye contact with any one person for more than a fraction of a second, he could have been intimidating. Instead, he was more of a gentle giant.

“Hey Will, Al,” I nodded to them, grinning as my feet finally found their way to the floor. Now that we were on the main floor of the club, the atmosphere was noticeably different. Compared to outside the contrast was as clear as day and night. The bar couldn’t have been more aptly named - it was a wide cavern peppered with patrons experiencing various levels of intoxication. Music blared all around us, but you’d be hard pressed to find where it was coming from. On the other side of the vast area was an older railing, worn and rusted, but sturdy, and a bridge that crossed it’s expanse. Even from where I stood I could hear the sound of rushing water from that direction, and I knew without checking that there was a river below. I’d seen it the last time I’d been here, but I didn’t feel any compulsion to go and look at it again. The water rushed by mercilessly fast there - if someone were to dive in, their chances of survival would have been slim to none. The whole thing made my skin crawl and filled me with a sense of foreboding. I was there to have a good time, so it was probably not a good idea to dwell on that place - already my skin had started to crawl. I forced my gaze back to the rest of the room.

The walls were splashed with various neon lights that painted pools of unnatural colors at odd angles all around us. Again, I found myself thinking that the vibrant shades were all wrong - that the only light should have come from the glass ceiling above and a few dim fixtures. That it was too extravagant for such a place. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out what made me feel so strongly, why I felt it was my place to pass judgement on the things that gave The Pit its ambiance, or what they felt was necessary to protect their paying customers, but I opted to ignore the niggling voice that picked out the tiny “problems” and focused on my friends instead. That was why I was here, right? To socialize and have fun, not to tell people how to run their own business. The air in the cavern was cold and damp; I took a few moments to breathe it all in. I was filled with longing, and a sense of unity that I couldn’t quite explain. The smells of the actual cavern were dulled by the undertone of sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes, but it was still there - bringing a smile to my face. Even while I focused on ignoring the pulsing wave of bodies dancing in the center of the cavern, I found it easier to smile here than I’d expected.

“It’s nice to see you out and about again, Tris!” Will chirped pleasantly, pulling me back into the now, where he and the others were looking at me expectantly. I laughed nervously, lifting my hand to the back of my neck. They were happy to see me - which only made my smile bigger. Maybe this had been a pretty good idea after all - I was already in a much better mood than I had been when Christina had found me brooding in my room.

“Well, it was this or work on a paper for Narcotics,” I explained with a shrug, letting my hand fall back to my side - that was all I needed to say in my defense for them to groan in mutual understanding. Clearly they’d been having just about as much luck with the current assignment as I was. Thinking back over how that had sounded incredibly rude I felt a rush of shame burn my cheeks, and quickly continued, “I mean that, and I’ve really missed hanging out with you guys.” They grinned at my words, seeming to perk up as they mirrored the words back to me eagerly. I needed to get better at this whole friendly conversation thing. I definitely didn’t want any of them thinking that I was using them as some kind of distraction, that I was only out because I had nothing better to do. That wasn’t fair to them. As it was, thanks to the differences in our schedules, I already almost never saw any of them outside of our rushed study circles and the occasional class that was shared. I didn’t want to risk losing them altogether just because I was awful at social cues - and socializing all together, really.

Part of me knew I was being paranoid - they understood better than anyone how busy we all were, but I still felt like I’d been neglectful. Each of us were seeking some version of a career in law enforcement, which was probably the only reason we ever interacted with one another in the first place. Christina wanted to work with abused children while Will’s goals shot a little higher, aiming for the big jobs working for the government directly. As far as I knew Al just wanted to be a police officer, and, honestly, I just dreamed of a decent position higher up in the ranks - not at the levels Will was looking for, but not as low as Al, either. Which was really just a weak way of saying I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do, other than succeed. The memory of our first few weeks together flashed into my head and brought a smile to my face - we had been a lot less convinced of our futures then - we were just a bunch of nervous freshman desperate to find kinship in such a foreign setting. I think, in a way, we were still those hopeless, lonely kids. I knew I was.

“Let’s grab a booth before they’re all gone!” Christina quickly grabbed hold of the situation and, by extension, the rest of us, leading us up another set of carved out steps as we rushed towards one of the small alcoves that still had an unoccupied booth. Once we were standing on solid ground again, she playfully bumped her hip against Will’s - Al and I simultaneously found one another’s gazes and rolled our eyes with matching smirks. It wasn’t possible to be any more transparent about their flirtation, but the pair still weren’t willing to admit their feelings - not to one another and absolutely not to us. They’d been like this for months with no sign of relief in sight - which only made the entirety of their situation more frustrating and amusing for those of us spectating. It was one of the biggest things Al and I were able to bond over. We even had a bet going on for how long it would take them to finally confess. I watched Chris as she moved to sit at a booth, leaving me the outside seat - she knew me so well. Before the guys could sit, though, she threw her hands up as though to make them halt. It worked.

“Boys buy the first round, right?” Christina asked with a deliberate innocence on her face that was clearly feigned, even I could see that, and I wasn’t even a walking lie detector like she and Al were. Al smirked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t argue. With a dramatic roll of his eyes Will turned on his heel to go back the way we’d come, calling over his shoulder to her jokingly,

“As long as you _swear_ you’re actually going to pay for the next one!”

“On my honor!” If I knew anything about her, that was a bold faced lie. Will and Al would end up buying the majority of the drinks, though I wouldn’t let the them do it all, I had my own spare change for living expenses. Usually it was spent on the occasional order of fast food, or new sneakers or something, but I figured I could splurge if it meant equality between friends. Or, more aptly, if it meant making sure Al didn’t make offhand comments about being more than happy to pay for my tab. That felt too much like a date.

“I..actually sort of missed this place,” I commented softly, giving The Pit another once over, more out of habit than anything – I didn’t recognize any of the faces out on the dance floor, but that wasn’t exactly surprising, due to my lack of social interaction. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Christina was doing much of the same. She wasn’t staring into the crowd of people, but at the walls and the bridge that crossed the river on the far side of the room with wide, curious eyes. She was just as eager to drink in our surroundings as I had been.

“It’s so weird, but I know what you mean, I love this club – it’s like, I’m _supposed_ to be here, you know?” I wasn’t sure if finding out that she felt the same as I did terrified or relieved me, but I nodded all the same. It was a strange feeling, knowing that I wasn’t the only one that had an unusual sense of belonging associated with The Pit. I was torn between feeling a rush of affection, of kinship, for her, and discomfort at not knowing what exactly that meant. Did that discredit the special feeling I had? Maybe, if she felt it, too, then it was just a case of really, really good decorators and an awesome location. After a few dizzying moments I decided not to over analyze it and instead grinned at her, choosing to enjoy the fact that we were alike in something. As if to make myself feel better, or maybe to convince myself of it, I voiced my suspicions.

“Well, if they aren’t making the atmosphere desirable, then they aren’t exactly doing their jobs right, are they?” She thought over it for a moment before nodding as though she agreed with me - that it made perfect sense. Thankfully the subject was laid to rest when Will and Al reappeared with two pitchers, one filled with a greenish liquid and the other a deep brown, and four tall glasses - our distraction had arrived. I’d never been happier to see a mixed drink in my life. The green liquid, a whiskey sour, was for Christina and I while Al and Will shared a mixture of whiskey and brown soda. From my left Christina whooped with pleasure and patted the table eagerly, ready to get started. I chose to pour the drinks without even thinking about it, filling everyone’s glass before my own. Something about that felt important, familiar even. I felt a prick of annoyance that I couldn’t quite place - like the idea of serving everyone before myself was something I shouldn’t do. I wasn’t given much time to worry over it, though, because Will’s glass was raised in the air and everyone else was following suit, so I joined in. I saw Christina’s grin and prepared for her to make a jab at someone, good naturedly, of course. More than likely it would be me.

“To getting Tris out of her cave of solitude, I deserve a trophy!”

That was about what I’d expected.

“To surviving finals!” I added laughingly, sticking my tongue out her with an air of defiance.

“I can drink to both of those,” Will chuckled, causing me to laugh again, it felt good. Healthy. The liquid in their cups quickly vanished - I had to take two or three big gulps to catch up with them. The burn was softened by a lemony soda, but I still cringed as it rolled down my throat and filled my stomach with heat; the bitter aftertaste wasn’t something I’d been able to adapt so far. Al was the one to fill our glasses next, looking up at me with a fond expression that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, so I chose to glance off to the side instead of meeting it. If the moment was uncomfortable or strange, no one seemed to notice or mention it - we just kept rolling through the motions.

“So did you guys have Sergeant Coulter in class today?” Al cleared his throat and asked, his tone nervous and timid - I found myself annoyed by it, thinking someone his size should have been more confident. Shame burned in my gut alongside the alcohol, and I made myself look up at him and smile - this was my _friend_. The question should have been asked happily - with some kind of eagerness in the mix; having the opportunity to meet with a Sergeant and make a first impression on them should have been an exciting experience, but each of us stayed quiet - except for Will, who grunted with irritation. I found myself silently agreeing with his sentiment. That was really the only way to respond to the question. I sipped at my drink, and waited for the complaints to start rolling in.

“I don’t understand how someone like _him_ could be promoted to _Sergeant_ \- and so young! He’s such an egotistical dick,” Each of us laughed - I couldn’t have argued even if I wanted to, he was absolutely right. I looked down into my cup before taking another long drink, my tongue had become slightly more numb to the taste by this point, so it was beginning to taste better. The officer in question had stepped into my Criminal Procedure class earlier that day. He’d been quiet at first, observing, before giving us a speech about what we could expect out of the academy in a few weeks, if we chose to go. He was pretty harsh, and not in the overly passionate about their cause way - it was more like he didn’t expect anyone to meet his standards.

“Because he’s top quality ass kisser, that’s why,” Christina offered, a sneaky grin on her face.

“I heard he was second in his group of graduates from the academy, that he lost out to some guy who works in security now. So he had to be doing _something_ right.” I offered quietly, but even I didn’t fully believe that. If rumors were to be believed, ranking up didn’t always take into consideration your talents so much as your willingness to grovel to the right people. I remembered feeling unnerved by him. Sergeant Eric Coulter, I learned, had a terrifying way of staring right through you, like he was slowly peeling you open and seeing right into your weakest places. The number of piercings in his face did absolutely nothing to improve the discomfort he inspired. The memory of him made my skin crawl. I chose to stare into a neon orange light across the way in hopes of forgetting his piercing stare. Rather than let the conversation continue to focus on someone so unpleasant, I decided to change the topic, blinking away the blare of orange burned into my retinas.

“Have you guys finished up your internship hours?” They all seemed perfectly willing to divert their attention from the Sergeant, and I found myself relaxing as each of them took turns discussing who they’d been paired up with, and what it had been like. For the most part I’d heard all of it before, but it was nice to talk about something positive all the same. Then it was my turn to talk about my own experience, which wasn’t necessarily bad, but I didn’t feel that I learned very much from it. I had been on more patrols than I could count, but my assigned officer wasn’t a very serious person. Just about as soon as his name passed my lips, Zeke, as he’d requested I call him, I regretted bringing this up. I hadn’t meant to call him by his first name - to sound so informal - but it was enough to garner that sneaky grin on Christina’s face. I groaned. We’d had this discussion before. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Al seemed slightly more stiff now. Odd.

“Ooh, so you’re on a first name basis with him?” I scowled, annoyed to feel the blush creeping up my neck at her suggestion - even if what she was hinting at wasn’t true, it was still enough to bring heat to my cheeks. I’d always blushed too easily - another flaw on the ever growing list. Leave it to Chris to know just the best ways to embarrass me. Sure, even I couldn’t deny that Zeke was attractive - he was one of those people that knew they looked good, and that somehow only made it more prominent. Confidence or what have you. Did that mean I flirted with him? Absolutely not - even if I had wanted to, I’d never been capable of that kind of thing, it just wasn’t something I’d been good at. Plus, the guy had a steady girlfriend and was my mentor. There was absolutely no way I would have ran the risk of scoring a bad reputation with the entire precinct I wanted to work at before I even made it into the academy.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, little miss nosy,” I replied smoothly, trying to sound like she hadn’t gotten me all worked up - my voice still cracked though, “Unlike some people, I don’t confuse work with play, we did the same thing everyone else was doing, nothing more - nothing less” She knew this was true, I’d already told her everything in annoying detail just to prove I wasn’t lying, besides, if I had been she would’ve known it - but she still deflated with a slight pout. Apparently it was disappointing that I behaved in my same boring, safe way all the time. I never had any fun stories for her to gush with me about. Oh well. I could feel the heat in my cheeks easing up and managed to relax a little, but one look at Al brought the blood rushing back in the form of anger. He looked relieved - _proud_ even - and suddenly I wished I would have done something with Zeke, just to wipe that look off of his face. I think he noticed my irritation, because suddenly his face fell and he stared at the table.

Instead of letting the anger boil and ruin my good night, I pushed myself away from the booth while pointedly not looking at him. I knew my mouth was set into a hard line, and I could see the way Christina was suddenly very uncomfortable while Will shot me a blissfully clueless, curious look. I didn’t check to see whatever expression was on Al’s face - I didn’t want to know. I tipped my glass back and drained it, not even cringing as it burned on the way down. The feeling was welcome at the moment. I plopped it down on the table, harder than I’d intended to, and grabbed for our empty pitchers, trying not to act as angry as I felt. It was ridiculous to be that upset just because Al was glad I didn’t have anything going on with Zeke, but it felt slightly overbearing.

“It’s my turn to get drinks, you can pay next, Chris,” I narrowed my eyes at her in what I hoped was a playful way, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice - this seemed to make her relax and Will grinned from ear to ear at the notion of more drinks. She waved her hand dismissively, laughing, and started a debate on which of their assigned officers had taken them to the best restaurants. Typical. It was impossible not to smile at the scene, which was a good start towards quelling my flare of anger. This time I took the steps a little more carefully, though I still refused to use the railings - I was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol and while I wasn’t yet buzzed, I was dangerously close to that point. The change in temperature down on the floor of The Pit made my skin flush with heat as I carefully weaved my way through the gyrating bodies towards my goal. One more set of roughly carved stairs later found me at the bar. I made it in one piece, so that was as good a victory as any. I enjoyed the cool air here after the swampy environment of the dance floor.

My eyes landed on my reflection behind the bartender and I felt a shock in my gut before tearing them away to stare at the ceiling. I wondered then, for the hundredth time, what it was about mirrors that made me so uncomfortable, but had yet to find an answer. Christina blamed it on repressed childhood trauma, which was just like her to use me as practice for psychoanalysis, but how would I know if that were true or not anyway? If it were repressed, I wouldn’t exactly remember it. I finally chose to divert my eyes from both the ceiling and the mirror, focusing on resting both pitchers carefully on the counter. When the bartender came up to me, I smiled and politely ordered the same thing as before - he nodded and fixed me with a knowing smirk. He had a shaven head and multiple tattoos - it felt like he belonged here, and I couldn’t help but smile at him as he turned away. I turned to press my back to the counter, telling myself that I wasn’t avoiding the mirror ringed with bottles - I was just surveying the place my subconscious was so quick to label as home. It was a good thing no one asked me to defend myself, I’d never been a very good liar.

It only took a matter of seconds for me to regret staring into the crowd of dancers below the alcove where they kept the bar - already I could feel a distinct blush burning in my face. Some - most, really- of the people in the crowd were moving together in ways that I wouldn’t have labeled as dancing. I wouldn’t have labeled it appropriate for public, either, but I’d been told many times that I was a prude, so maybe that was just me - maybe that was the norm and I was strange. Rather than watch the embarrassing displays below, I glanced first to my left, and then to my right, where my gaze fell on a vaguely familiar person. There was a guy sitting at the end of the bar on his own, hunched over a drink. I was almost positive we had a class together, but I wasn’t sure which one it was - I couldn’t recall his name or why looking at him filled me with a wave of irritation, but he had my attention. Even though I couldn’t immediately bring any interaction we’d had to the forefront of my mind, I got the impression our encounters weren’t pleasant ones.

I decided to focus on his appearance, rather than my growing anger. His hair shone, even in the dull light, and his eyes were unfocused - he had yet to notice me, thankfully. He stared at nothing, or at least I couldn’t pinpoint the object of his attention. His left hand loosely held the rim of his glass, which was half full of a liquid the color of honey, hovering just above the counter, and his other arm was tucked against his chest. His clothes were dark - a sweater with thin lines through it and a pair of jeans that I couldn’t tell you the color of thanks to the low lighting - and hinted at coiled muscles below the cloth; he couldn’t be described as built but he wasn’t scrawny, either. It didn’t seem like there was anyone accompanying him. I thought that, maybe, I should have felt pity for him, but only experienced a prickle of annoyance tingling up my spine. I didn’t have any urge to approach him at all - but that wasn’t entirely surprising, I didn’t often feel the impulse to talk to strangers. Call it self preservation, or cowardice, I couldn’t tell you which.

The sound of a heavy container being rested on the bar to my left caught me off guard and made me flinch. I quickly turned to face the bartender, fingering through the large bills for the correct amount I owed in my wallet. I laid down a little more than necessary and smiled up at him - he seemed surprised at my politeness.

“Keep the change,” I murmured, wanting to get away from the bar and from the guy at the end of it - an unintentional glance into the mirror told me that his head was lifted but I didn’t look long enough to see why. Something about him was making me angrier and angrier the longer I stayed in his presence - my hands were trembling. The more I thought on it, the more I was sure I could remember him being a pretty big jerk in some classes, I was sure he was in the same program as I was - most of the people in our college were - but there was nothing specific enough to warrant the kind of response I was having to him. He must have been looking my way, because the moment I made myself glance his way again, our eyes met, and not in a good way. I couldn’t tell you what color his were, in the dim light they appeared to be black pits. An involuntary shudder ripped through me. The look he gave me was cruel, like he was sizing me up as a possible threat or prey.  I was given the sinking impression that he didn’t like me any more than I liked him. It shouldn’t have been, but the prospect of a stranger hating me was offensive.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but I remembered thinking, suddenly, that the center of this guy’s attention was not at all a good place to be. His eyes followed me, unflinching, as I turned slightly to grip the handles of each pitcher - I was determined to ignore him and, by extension, the burning rage in my stomach. Before I looked away, I could just see that the corner of his mouth was curled up into a smirk - then he lifted his glass and covered it. With a huff of indignation, I tore my eyes away and squared my shoulders, it was time to go back to our booth before I started to worry my friends, anyway. As I left, I could swear I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head the entire time, but I didn’t spare a backward glance to check. For some reason that felt too much like I’d be giving him some kind of satisfaction. Once I found my way back to our booth, Al rose to help me sit the pitchers down, I couldn’t find it in me to be angry at him after the bar, so I just thanked him as I caught the end of a heated debate between Christina and Will. It helped erase the anger as I roll my eyes alongside Al.

Some things never change.

* * *

 

Will and Christina’s argument turned out to be over who had a higher tolerance for alcohol - to the extreme of challenging one another to multiple rounds of shots - Al and I were christened the “judges”. This went on for a good hour or so - I stopped drinking for fear that none of us would be able to leave if at least one of us wasn’t sober. Al followed suit. Will technically won, just because he was able to finish his final shot whereas Christina spat hers out, but both of them were equally inebriated. The pair of idiots suddenly broke into fits of laughter - over what, I couldn't be sure - which was as good of a sign as any that it was time for us to leave - I’d stayed much longer than originally intended, anyway. Getting out of The Pit was much more difficult with two people who could barely stand on their own, but somehow we managed it. The chill of the night was a shock after being inside a club full of people for the last few hours, but I welcomed it. The bracing cold helped to clear my head the rest of the way.

The walk back was filled with laughter and the occasional stumble that had either myself or Al nearly dropping our drunken friends, but eventually I recognized the street that would lead us back to mine and Chris’ apartment. I had Christina draped over my shoulders, which was difficult in her current state - she was a giggling mess who seemed determined to trip over her own feet - but I managed to keep her upright as I glanced at our friends. I stopped short at the fork where Al and Will would continue straight while we would need to veer to the right, anticipating AL’s words before he spoke them.

“You sure you don’t need me to take you all the way to your place? I’d hate if something happened to either of you.” He was being sincere and polite, I should have been flattered, but I found myself irritated that he thought we couldn’t take care of ourselves. Or..well, that I couldn’t take care of us, Chris definitely would not have been much help in her current state. Instead I smiled, and shook my head, starting to turn towards our street.

“No, no, it’s fine really. We’ve got this, you just focus on getting that one safely home.” I was lucky to have been saddled with Christina since we lived together, Al would have to drop off the poor drunken Will and then walk another two blocks before he could go to bed. He looked as tired as I felt.

“Oh, well..if you’re sure. Just uh, text me, let me know you made it home okay?”

“Sure thing! Good luck, Al,” I waved him off, walking away before he could keep up the conversation - he looked like he wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Will proclaiming that he needed to vomit. Yep. I had been very, very lucky with taking care of Christina. She cried loud, embarrassing goodbyes over our shoulders to the guys that made me drag her just a bit faster. Not for the first time since moving in, I felt a wave of gratitude that we’d scored a ground floor apartment, as it made this entire process a lot more manageable - though, she still made the entire affair far more difficult than it needed to be. After some struggling over getting her changed into pajamas and making her brush her teeth, I was finally able to put her to bed with two aspirin and a tall glass of water. With that taken care of I focused on my own hygiene, and getting ready for bed - I’d almost forgotten how irritating removing makeup was until I had the black stuff smeared down my cheeks. I remembered my promise to text Al as I was settling into bed and grabbed for my phone, cursing under my breath as the blinding screen assaulted my eyes in the otherwise dark room. When my eyes had recovered enough to actually see what I was doing I shot him a quick text and curled up under my comforter.

[12:48AM] Me: _Made it home and put her to bed with no broken limbs. I deserve a medal._

[12:52AM] Al: _the package is delivered. who needs a medal when you have us?_

[12:52AM] Me: _Yeah yeah, the true virtue is friendship. Thanks Officer Sunshine._

[1:00AM] Al: _I’m having a heart attack - tris prior made a joke._

[1:01AM] Al: _Made it home ok_

[1:03AM] Me: _Don’t die, who will laugh at Will and Chris with me?_

[1:04AM] Me: _Good. Go to bed. Night._

As I put my phone away I heard it buzz again - rather than checking it I just plugged in my charger and burrowed further under my covers. Knowing everyone was taken care of and safe left me with a clear conscience and a nagging weight of exhaustion. I was absolutely ready for a good sleep after the night I’d had. It was only once I’d closed my eyes, close to drifting off, that a memory floated up to the surface of narrowed green eyes and a cruel smirk. I’d completely forgotten about the incident at the bar until that moment, but it was suddenly fresh again, and I felt a familiar burn of anger in a matter of seconds. I thought back to his cold expression, and the way he seemed genuinely annoyed to find me in his proximity, as though I were a personal insult to him, and it was infuriating how easily I could recall his name then. How could I have forgotten someone who was so especially talented at getting under my skin?

His name was Peter Hayes and I was certain that I hated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so expect another chapter up in a week's time! Tell me what you think in the comments, you can also shoot me asks over on my [tumblr](problematichayes.tumblr.com) I've reserved specifically for my AO3/FF.Net! I'm sorry if things feel a little slow, I'll pick up the pace as quickly as I can without hurting the build of the story.


	2. Sweven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweven  
> (n) A vision seen in sleep; a dream

I could feel my heart pulsating in my throat as I heard rapid footfalls surrounding me, the sound of shoes slapping the pavement rising to a crescendo. The familiarity of it all threatened to suffocate me and I was overcome with a sudden, inexplicable giddiness. I was aware of an ache in my legs and a burning in my lungs, and felt more alive than I could ever remember having felt before. The collection of noise around me became people, there was a buzz of excitement that was nearly palpable rolling off of the. It seeped into my core, weighing me down like lead, while simultaneously making me feel like I could fly. I couldn’t have wiped the grin off my face, even if I wanted to. I had become a part of the pack, swimming in a sea of obsidian and activity - with an ache of certainty I knew that this was where I belonged. For a moment I realized that I had absolutely no idea where exactly the crowd was running to, where  _ I _ was running to, but I knew I had to keep up. I couldn’t risk falling behind. My head snapped up at a loud, blaring noise - I would have recognized it anywhere as the telltale whistle of the train that tore its way through the city. The sound filled me with a dizzying mixture of joy and fear and I looked for it eagerly, only to find that everything around me was wrapped in clouds of mist. I was unable to watch it approach, but that didn’t stop me from running. Now that I tried to focus on my surroundings, I found that even my closest neighbor was blurred into obscurity by the fog.

With no way to see the train yet, I allowed myself to dissipate into the crowd and fall in love with the feeling again and again. Without even thinking about it, I knew I was supposed to jump on the train while it was moving as we got close enough to finally see the cars moving swiftly. It wasn’t something someone had told me, I just knew. In fact, I think I’d been looking forward to this moment for a long time, now that I was standing there with my hands trembling at my sides. I watched those in front of me, black smudges I couldn’t distinguish, as they jumped in first, leaving me in waiting. I rushed forward then, my heart lurching, and realized that I hadn’t even considered where the train was going, or why we were leaping onto it. I just knew I  _ had  _ to do it, something very bad would happen if I didn’t, and besides, I wanted to - more than anything. That realization squashed any resignations I’d had. I finally managed to build up the right amount of speed and hurled myself sideways at the car - but my stomach dropped as I realized that I had missed the entryway by a fraction of an inch. I found myself clinging to the door desperately as wind buffeted my face, and threatened to knock me free. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I wouldn’t make it into the train car - that I would fail. I suddenly felt small and helpless. A pocket of fear grew in my chest, expanding until it pressed against my lungs and stole my breath.

Before my panic could consume me, I felt someone grab my arm and wrench me inside the safety of the rattling car. I squinted to look at them, but even with the heavy wind all around us, there was still a blurry veil that blurred my vision, and my savior was little more than soft corners and fuzz. Despite this, there was a warm ache in my heart that felt oddly like affection - I liked this person, trusted them. I was suddenly aware of them grasping my hand firmly, shaking it in greeting, but their voice was lost in the clanging of the train and the gusts of air from outside. The wind that deafened me was now threatening to throw my body to the floor - instinctively I pressed my back to the wall of the train car and focused on sitting. My head was pounding and my heart was thudding in my ears, beating too fast. The adrenaline coursing through my veins was indescribable. The soft cornered person joined me on the floor and I turned to face them, smiling instinctively even if I couldn’t tell what sort of expression they wore. For just a moment the fog lifted, as though the breeze finally cut through, and I realized with a start that I was staring at Christina. Younger, like she’d been in our freshman year, but it was unmistakably her. She was grinning at me, her eyes wide with the same pleasure as I imagined my own held, her hair windblown and wild.

When I blinked the wind was suddenly less powerful, and I was startled to find myself standing on a ledge, staring down at the fog again. I couldn’t see anything but the edge of the building I was standing on - but I knew the drop was far. I suddenly felt dizzy, but the feeling was more anticipation than fear. Instinctively I whipped around, searching for Christina, but the veil of mist was there, too, surrounding everything in a vast white emptiness. I knew there were people in front of me - that I wasn’t alone, but I couldn’t see them. I could just hear a voice, it was familiar but I couldn’t tell who it belonged to, I could just barely hear them call me  _ Stiff _ . For some reason that filled me with anger, enough to turn and jump without knowing why. Once my feet left the ground and I sank like a stone, downwards into who knew where, I thought that I would be consumed by panic - there was a very good chance that I would die, after all.

The panic never came - instead I felt euphoria.

After a few more moments spent suspended in air my body landed on a hard surface that only just bounced my weight upwards before catching me again, stinging my skin on contact. Something crawled into my mind, telling me that I’d fallen onto a net. I was alive. I had to trust the feeling, because I couldn’t actually see the ropes that had saved me from a messy death. After catching my breath I instinctively rolled to the left, only to feel a pair of strong hands help me out and down onto the floor. They were talking to me, but I couldn’t hear them - my legs were wobbly and my heart was lodged in my throat as I heard them shout, “First jumper, Tris!” I was almost positive that I knew this person, but I couldn’t see their face, I was blinded by the mist. All I could do was shiver at the chill of the room - at the musty smell of earth and the damp air as I drank it in.

* * *

 

I woke abruptly, shooting upright as I jerked my head quickly from side to side - at first I expected to see nothing but a white veil, but, thankfully, my room came into focus, and I took in a deep breath of relief. I wiped at my eyes tiredly, trying to clear away the exhaustion that was still weighing down my limbs and tempting me to go back to sleep. The remnants of my dream had all but faded away by this point, but I got the impression that it had been pleasant. I felt light and giddy, despite the merciless blaring of my alarm - I swiftly reached over and silenced it before raising my arms above my head to stretch, letting my joints pop back into their rightful places. With a heavy sigh, I forced myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed - hissing at the freezing tile beneath that soaked into my toes - instead of going back to bed like I wanted, and sprung to my feet. There was no time for laziness today - my stomach was growling and I had classes to get to. I had woken with an almost overpowering urge to go for a run, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to before my first class. Instead, I grabbed for the first set of clean clothes I could find and made a beeline for the kitchen - I was dreaming of a filling, quick breakfast. One quick glance through our cabinets left me with disappointment.

Apparently we had forgotten to go shopping for groceries. It looked like I’d get to go running after all. I locked the door behind me and rushed to the dining hall on campus - the lactic burn in my legs was a welcome distraction from my hunger. By the time I made it to the front doors that lead into the cafeteria, I had a whole ten minutes to spare before I needed to be in the lecture hall - lucky for me, my class was just on the other side of the street - so I ducked my chin and headed inside. Upon entering I was greeted by a few friendly faces from various classes, they looked about as tired as I felt, no one stopped me for conversation. Good. I scooped up a napkin full of grapes, a bottle of water and a chocolate chip muffin. It was still warm and exactly what I’d been craving. With my spoils in tow, I jogged back outside, checking both sides of the street to see if it was clear or not - the half eaten muffin was perched between my lips as I jogged in place, trying to keep my blood pumping in hopes of staving off the exhaustion and mild headache forming behind my eyes.

While waiting for the road to clear, I spotted a bus coming, and felt a sudden urge to dart out in front of it - there was still enough time to cross without running the risk of being crushed under its wheels - but the feeling faded almost as quickly as it had come. I was left feeling a pang of horror at the realization that I’d honestly been tempted by something like that - I wasn’t an insane adrenaline junkie like some of the people I shared classes with - I didn’t just risk my life needlessly on crazy whims. What the hell had that been about? I popped the last of the muffin past my lips and frowned, running across the two lanes once they were empty, trying to ignore the odd feeling that made my hands tremble. Before entering the building, I turned to watch the tail end of the bus disappear around the next corner, my heart pounding in my ears. With a shake of my head, I turned back and shouldered my way past the doors, finishing off the last of my grapes and tossing the used napkin in a bin - my feet squeaked on the tile, coated in morning dew. 

I couldn’t imagine what had brought on that kind of urge, but I knew I absolutely couldn’t risk thinking that way, especially not right now. Despite whatever had gotten into my head, I needed to focus - exams would be starting in a little under a week and if I wanted any shot at making good impressions I had to score high. The rest of my morning passed in a blur of revision and furious note taking - it almost came as a shock when the hall started to clear out and my stomach rumbled. Was it lunch already? Following up on my silent oath to try more actively to spend time with my friends, I met up with Christina and Will in the dining hall. I was especially grateful for the company after the whole bus thing - I needed to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. It was easy to lose myself as we all started gushing over our meals about the best approach to surviving finals. The next week would be spent cramming in study sessions together as often as possible.

“I’m already stocking up on all the caffeine I can get my hands on,” Will explained between bites of his hamburger, Christina nodded sagely and I had to laugh. Usually finals meant we’d crash at someone’s apartment, quizzing one another and making sure everyone was prepared for the tests. That involved unhealthy intakes of sugary energy drinks and junk food - which Will was the best at procuring. I took small bites of my food and listened as Chris started rattling off special requests for items to be bought, we’d already planned to spend the first few sessions at our apartment so it was up to him to get everything ready.

“I’ll buy you guys like, three rounds at the Pit if you can manage to help me pass the Criminology exam,” Al complained from behind me as he joined us at the table, his plate loaded down with greasy burgers and fries just like the rest of us. I chuckled quietly and worked on my own meal, somewhat distracted - I’d been trying for the last few minutes to remember my dream, throughout the morning I kept getting small glimpses of it, but nothing solid enough to grasp onto, and it was driving me insane. I was left frustrated and unsure as to why I was fixated on something so trivial as a dream - it wasn’t like it held any real importance. Dreams were just dreams, after all. They didn’t mean anything. Suddenly, I felt something soft and warm smack me on the cheek, and flinched; when I looked up it was to see Will grinning with upraised brows, and everyone else looking at me expectantly. A quick glance down affirmed that he’d thrown a fry at me to grab my attention - I cringed and looked back up apologetically. In all my fuss over the dream, I’d stopped listening to what they were saying.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked which exam you’re the most worried about - so we can pull together the last of the list to study off of,” 

“Um..I, Narcotics, honestly. There’s so much to remember this semester, I need a little refresher.” I finally answered with a frown - it was probably the most difficult class I'd dealt with since I finished studying about laws and legalities last semester. Almost immediately I heard a harsh kind of noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle from the end of our table, instinctively I glanced down that way, curious to find the source. Immediately I felt a fire in my veins and frowned.

Him again.

Sitting there with his nose in a textbook and his plate half touched, loose sheets of paper splayed around him haphazardly, was Peter. Looking at him left me with a strong desire to introduce his nose to my fist - I still had absolutely no explanation for the unorthodox level of hatred I felt for him, it was just..there. I knew there was absolutely no justification for my response to him simply existing, that him being difficult in classes and having that stupid, smug look on his face weren't good enough reasons for the boiling rage in my stomach, but logic didn’t make me any less mad. I hated how at ease he appeared to be, he wasn't even looking at us. He was less formal than the last time I saw him, dressed in a pair of loose jeans and a faded t-shirt, both were varying shades of black; the sleeves of his shirt proved my previous suspicions from the night before. He certainly had muscle mass - enough to be formidable, but not enough to be bulky. I hated him. I felt my heart racing, my breath picking up, and was suddenly incapable of holding my tongue.

“Is something _ funny _ ?” Peter raised his head at the sound of my voice, looking in our direction with an absolutely infuriating air of innocence mixed with mild irritation, his brows raised a few inches and his eyes widened marginally. I couldn’t help noticing that, in the brighter lighting of the dining hall, his eyes were more noticeably green - though not at all like Will’s - they were more of a hazel than anything. There was little light to be found in them. The way he managed to look genuinely surprised that I’d addressed him was enough to make me hesitate, to consider that maybe I’d dreamt up him being this bad guy, it wasn’t like we’d actually talked. Maybe I was just being irrational - I didn’t know why I would have felt the way I did without a good reason, but surely it was possible? Just a few hours ago I was considering running in front of a moving bus, so maybe I really was losing it. Then he spoke up, and the sound set my teeth on edge. There was no way someone could have a tone like his, so full of confidence and cocksure attitude, and not be at least a little bit of a jerk.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I scowled at him then, balling my hands into fists on either side of my plate. Even as I stared him down, it didn’t escape my notice that my friends had bristled at the confrontation - they were looking at me like I’d grown another head, though - I wasn’t usually one to speak up, after all. They seemed to be interested in seeing this play out, rather than jumping to my defense, but it was still abundantly clear that they didn’t like Peter any more than I did from the looks they were shooting him. That was a relief.

“No, I’m talking to the  _ other _ jerk who eavesdrops on conversations,” The corners of his lips turned up slowly into a smile that only served to fuel my anger. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears, flooding my cheeks with color. His expression was oozing with smugness; he had an air of confidence about him that made me want to knock that stupid smirk right off of his face.  

“Oh. Well, in that case, if you don’t mind, I have studying to do.” He said with that same condescending tone before turning back to his textbook without another glance our way, as though we were some inconvenience that had been dealt with. I wanted to fight him and his bad attitude. I huffed and chose to ignore him. As long as he minded his own business I could handle not jumping down his throat for simply existing. Just as Will opened his mouth to continue our discussion, though, another laugh escaped Peter - a soft chuckle this time. My face was almost painfully hot as my anger threatened to boil over. “Just, for the record, though. Saying you only need a  _ little _ refresher in that class- that's a major understatement. You’d probably need an entire semester of studying to get any kind of passable grade, Prior.” He muttered into his book without looking our way, I could see from where I sat that his smirk was even more severe than it had been before. My nails bit painfully into my palms as I tightened my fists. In that moment I fully intended to storm over and bust his teeth out of his head, even going so far as to press my hands against the edge of the table to get up, but Christina rested her hand on my shoulder and I remembered myself. Where I was - the kind of strict code against violence our university demanded. 

“Don’t bother, Tris, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all he’s good for - all bark, no bite.” I was almost positive that I saw him stiffen at her words, but maybe it was my imagination. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person who let anyone upset him easily, let alone Christina, who was also nearly all bark and no bite, but then again, what did I know? “I heard we’re going to test out a breathalyzer today, don’t want to be late.” She tacked on with a little devious giggle that gave me the distinct impression that she was more excited about the prospect of an alcohol related lecture than the actual breathalyzer.

I wanted to stay put and sit there stubbornly, leaving felt too much like defeat, but I knew I had absolutely nothing to gain from it. I glanced down at my plate while getting up and realized with a flare of irritation that in all the fuss I hadn’t even finished my meal - thanks to him. Great. I shot him another glare for ruining my lunch, feeling anger burn in my chest when I found that not only was he still sitting there but he was  _ watching _ us. Like he’d been waiting to gauge a reaction. He wiggled his brows when our eyes met, winking as he mouthed “have fun”. I considered not giving a damn about rules or regulations and launching myself at him, but managed to swallow my anger at the last moment and looked away at the memory of Christina’s words. I wouldn’t allow him to have the satisfaction of getting me any more wound up than I already was. 

* * *

 

“Ugh! What’s that guy's problem, anyway?”

Christina’s expression was full of pity and amusement, both equally irritating, as she rolled her eyes at me. “What  _ isn’t _ his problem? We grew up in the same neighborhood - I’m almost positive that psycho actually gets off on upsetting people. Just..don’t respond to him, it’ll discourage the prick and he’ll go away.” She shrugged, holding the door open for me before we hurried forward, the incident with Peter had nearly made us late, “At least Molly and Drew weren’t there, I might have had to start a fight.” The prospect of ducking my head and letting that prick push me around only fueled my anger, but I nodded anyway, at least pretending to be compliant. It was easier to just let her think that I agreed with her, that she’d remedied the situation for now. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to her try and convince me that her way was the right way for the next few days. So I thanked her with a sigh, admitting that she was probably right, and let her believe that I felt better - which I absolutely did not. 

It turned out that Christina was right about our class, by the end of the period we each had swished a mouthful of whiskey and were made to breathe into a little tube which told us what the alcohol content we’d “consumed” was. It was actually kind of fun, despite the terrible taste. I obediently spat my mouthful out after swishing, but Chris swallowed hers with a playful “Oops,” followed by an expression that said she was not in the least bit sorry about it. By the time classes were finished for the day, my mood had dramatically improved, and I’d managed to forget about the whole Peter incident altogether. I’d been receiving a barrage of texts attempting to coerce me into eating dinner in the cafeteria with my friends regardless of the fact that I really did need to go home and start on my paper. Christina, as usual, won out over me. Even I couldn't argue that the prospect of eating a warm meal with my friends sounded much better than willing a paper to write itself while gorging on stale crackers and water all alone. So I met them at our usual table, feeling a prickle of apprehension at the memory of our disastrous lunch. 

Our table was free of any self-entitled pricks - which was a huge relief. We were joined by a group that I couldn’t quite call my friends, but I had come to know and..well, at the very least enjoy their company during my years at the university. Uriah was the first to notice our presence, grinning from ear to ear as he called out a greeting. I felt myself grin back - it was hard not to, he always had such a pleasant expression. He was Zeke’s younger brother and they were uncannily similar in that sense. Next to him, Lynn made a stark contrast with her sour expression - like she couldn’t care one way or another about us being there. Marlene more than made up for her, though, and beamed at us as she asked about classes. She and Christina easily broke into conversations about the classes they shared as the rest of us quietly dug into our food. Eventually, as it always seemed to, their conversation broke into talking about cute guys, which branched off to include which officers were the most attractive. I had to hide my smirk as I watched Uriah and Will’s expressions slowly change to match Lynn’s.

Al seemed content with listening to them talk about other men and their gorgeous eyes, I didn’t miss the way he pointedly glanced my way with that same infuriating expression he’d had back in The Pit when I’d admitted to having a strictly professional relationship with Zeke. Anger flared up in my stomach and I found myself glaring at my plate with a sudden lack of appetite. I knew I needed to talk to him about my feelings like an adult, and explain that he made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t prove that he was actually attracted to me, not really, and I didn’t want to run the risk of offending him by being wrong. So I kept quiet and forced myself to finish the food on my tray, no longer really listening to the conversation util Uriah piped up with a painfully obvious attempt to change the topic.

"So who else is absolutely gonna bomb on the Forensics exam?" Marlene gave his shoulder a gentle shove as the rest of us groaned, unhappy about the reminder of how close the exams were now.

"I'm not even that worried about it, I mean it's like, forty percent about legality and sixty percent about the actual scientific necessities for the required position, right?" That earned Will a spoonful of mashed potatoes spattered across his cheek by Christina, who proceeded to pretend she was absolutely innocent when glared in her direction. He didn’t manage to hold the stern expression for more than a few seconds, though, and grinned like a fiend before reaching across the table to smear chocolate pudding down the side of her face. Even I couldn't help the laughter that ripped out of me at the absolutely scandalized expression that had replaced her smile. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes wide and her mouth threatening to twitch upward into a smile. I took this as my cue to leave before I would up in the middle of a food fight - I had no desire to take a shower tonight with the paper still looming over my head.

"You're so dead, Will." 

Thankfully everyone was caught up in the tension of the moment, so I slipped away from the table without having to explain myself to them, walking towards the back of the room where the trays and dirty dishes were deposited after being used. Without meaning to, I easily spotted Peter across the dining area, positioned between a squat looking boy with fiery red hair and a girl with wide shoulders and flat brown hair - even from this distance I would recognize her weak chin and mean eyes. I neither trusted, nor liked, seeing the three of them together - a tingle of apprehension whispered to me that each of them were unpleasant, but as a group they were pure danger. Unfortunately, I didn’t look away from them fast enough and, much to my dismay, found myself staring into an infuriatingly familiar set of dark green eyes for the first time in as many encounters as we’d had. Damn. The look on his face was intense, thoughtful, before slowly shifting back to the smug one I’d grown used to. He winked at me again.

What a prick. I tore my eyes away, not interested in seeing him or his irritating face - I didn’t want to wait around to find out if he felt it was worth his time to come over just to make my life more difficult or not. Instead I turned back to the task at hand, emptying my tray and disposing of the trash. Even from where I stood I could hear Molly laugh over the din of the hall, and knew in my heart that I hated the whole lot of them. I wouldn’t let them get under my skin. I wouldn’t. It wasn’t until I turned back around that I realized with dismay that they were seated near the exit. I’d have to walk right past their table to leave the building. I considered going back and joining my friends again, but if I did, I’d have to accept that I’d rather cower than face them. That they intimidated me to some degree. That wasn’t going to happen.

With more confidence than I actually felt, I set my shoulders and held my chin high, walking sternly forward. It was hard not to notice them at least a little bit, though, and that turned out to be okay as I was able to see Drew’s leg extended out into the aisle to trip me. I hopped over it in one smooth motion. Thankfully, he didn’t anticipate that, and I managed to pass without giving them the satisfaction of my falling. I didn’t spare them a glance. My plan had been to treat them as though they were any other cluster of students that weren’t a part of my everyday routine, they were just three more faces in the crowd. While in theory it had sounded like a great plan, it was laid to rest almost immediately. I felt something graze over my right shoulder and heard a soft splat that caused me to halt - tensing slightly. After looking over my shoulder and to my feet, I spotted a small pile of mashed potatoes, roughly the size of a spoonful - half of it had stuck to my jacket while the other half was now splattered on the ground. Some had even gotten on my shoes. Instinctively I balled my hands into fists by my sides.

Molly started laughing again, it was an unpleasant sound that rested halfway between a cackle and a wheeze; Drew joined in, then, and his was by far more ridiculous - high pitched and squeaky. Peter, however, let out a far more controlled noise, a deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest, and that was somehow even worse than the other two combined. It immediately brought the blood rushing to my face as I fought to control my mounting anger. I still hadn’t turned to face them yet, instead I looked across to my left, searching for the table where I’d left my friends. It was easy enough to spot them - what with the raucous laughter and Lynn’s shaven head, but they were currently absorbed in watching Marlene balance a cup on her chin. I wouldn’t be receiving any help from them. I swallowed hard, reminding myself that I didn’t need help, I could handle this on my own. 

"That's a good color on you, Prior! I think it's an improvement to the whole outfit," Peter's voice filled my ears and I quickly spun to face him, desperately trying to control my expression. I didn’t need him knowing he could anger me so easily. I noticed that we’d garnered the attention of the few people sitting nearby, and I knew that my face was red with rage, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care at that moment. Seeing the pride on Peter’s face snapped something in me and, without really thinking it through, I stormed over to the three of them. They tensed, possibly expecting some kind of fight, and part of me was deeply convinced that was what I wanted. At the last second I got a better better idea, though, and grinned; a lesson in humiliation, I decided, was the best possible retaliation for that over-confident jerk - it would do him some good. I quickly grabbed the front of his tray, still relatively full, and flipped it back onto his chest. Potatoes, gravy, pudding, and chicken poured down his shirt and onto his jeans. I smirked triumphantly and took a few rapid steps backward to observe my work of art. It had been just as satisfying as I’d hoped. He was glaring at me with slitted eyes, his face was bright red,, and he was breathing heavily - Molly looked torn between wanting to tear my eyes out and giggling; Drew was barely containing his laughter. Good.

Molly suddenly seemed to snap back into action, moving to gather napkins and passing them to Peter - but he was too focused on staring me down to notice her at the moment. He was almost terrifyingly silent. I would have rathered he explode at me - jump up, start a fight. Rather than letting him intimidate me, though, I grinned and tilted my head, further rattling his cage instead of letting his humiliation end at the flipped tray. A small part of me whispered in my ear, warned me that my behavior was little better than his at this point, but I was fed up.

“Wow, Peter, I see what you mean - that is  _ exactly _ what you were missing, it looks _ great _ on you.” I felt a rush of pleasure at the snort that escaped Molly and turned on my heel - I could just see Christina and the others out of the corner of my eye, they were definitely looking at me now. Pride welled in my chest at the realization that I’d actually stood up for myself - it felt good to retaliate against the attacks rather than walking away the better person. Really good. As I left, I noticed a few people shooting me strange looks, but for the most part anyone who noticed what happened hooted with pleasure or congratulated me. I couldn’t wipe the satisfied grin off of my face for the entire jog back to our apartment.

I didn’t end up get any writing done - by the time I got home I had to take a shower to get the food out of my hair and the rush of pleasure from my victory had lessened some. The longer I stewed over the incident, the more I thought about Peter’s intimidating silence, I could feel anger building up in my chest again and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus enough to do anything productive. So I opted to not even turn my computer on and went straight to bed.

I was gripping a pistol, the weight felt odd in my hand as I fired desperately at a target that I couldn’t quite find within my ability to hit. My surroundings were webbed and layered with thick white fog, but I could see the target well enough. I could see my inability to hit it. Despite my failure, adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and my fingers and forearm were numb with pain from gripping my weapon so tightly. The sound of the bullet exiting the chamber was jarringly loud, the cold metal and the heft of the gun were making me dizzy. My entire world had become one small tunnel that had me at one end, reloading a gun that I had yet to control, and the target at the other, almost mocking me for my lack of skill. I glared at it, suddenly filled with frustration. 

There was a muffled noise to my right - a voice, I realized - and I had the impression that I was being teased, playfully, but teased all the same. Something about defying statistics. I still hadn’t hit the target. Squinting, I breathed in and glared down my sight, finally guiding the bullet into its intended zone. It wasn’t a bullseye by any means, but I’d torn a small hole in the paper. I felt a strange sense of power rush through me upon accepting that I could control the gun in my hands, this dangerous machine, and it sent tingles down my scalp and into my fingers and toes, overwhelming me. For a moment I felt a strange sense of kinship towards the person beside of me, the smear of black clothes that I couldn’t quite focus on. Something about them reminded me of Will. Before I could really think about that, I blinked and found myself standing in a new environment.

I’m not sure how I knew it changed when it was the same void of..anything, but it was apparent to me that I was somewhere else. I found myself nestled in a crowd of shades, of faceless smudges, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of blood and sweat. I heard a hard smack and the smudges of color suddenly formed into dull, recognizable shapes - almost like I had suddenly peered through a window covered with frost - of two figures. Two people. One was large and bear-like, the other narrow and wiry, though still larger than I was. I felt my heart stutter at the realization that, despite the fact that I couldn’t see their faces, I knew I was watching Will and Al fight. I felt my stomach churn as I watched the blurry versions of my friends jab, and duck, and strike at one another, Al seemed hesitant and Will was determined, but his blows were almost harmless. It reminded me a bit of the self defense classes on hand to hand combat where we sparred our partners, but unlike then, I got the feeling  that neither of them were holding their punches. The phrase “No one concedes,” bubbled up to the surface of my thoughts and sent a chill through me. I almost missed it when Will was struck - but immediately experienced a nauseating sensation of Déjà vu. I’d been here, I’d seen this before. I’d lived it. Without seeing the full room, I suddenly knew that there was a dated green chalkboard in the corner, that the mats here were worn and tired and in need of replacing. I had no idea why specifically I was remembering those things, but I knew it with a chilling certainty. 

The last thing I saw before the edges of my vision faded to black was Will’s body crumpling in defeat as Al struck him once again. My stomach filled with dread and then I saw nothing.

I woke in a panic, covered in cold sweat, and grabbed the nearest notebook I could find. Fervently, I recorded every detail I could remember - of the fight, of the room, the smell of sweat and metal and dust - filling the pages speedily and messily. A part of me knew that most of this was nonsense that I wouldn’t understand in the morning, but it just  _ felt _ important to remember, before it faded like my dreams always did. My hand began to cramp and I felt exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, but I gripped the feeling buzzing in my veins that made my fingers tingle - the feeling that I needed to  _ remember _ this. Once I was satisfied that I’d gotten as many details as I could manage to hold on to written down, I let my eyes fall shut and curled up against my pillow with the book in my arms and the pen still grasped in my hand.

I didn’t dream again that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been excited to post this! And I know originally I said every Wednesday but it works out better to post every Tuesday, so that'll be the schedule for these. I hope everyone's enjoying what's going down so far - I know it isn't much, but there's more to come, all in due time.
> 
> Comment and let me know what you think, feedback is the best motivator!


	3. Monachopsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monachopsis  
> (n.) the subtle, but persistent feeling of being out of place.

When I woke the following morning it was to discomfort. The pages of my notebook clung to my cheek, with the faintest bit of sweat and drool dampening them. I groaned and peeled them away slowly, blinking exhaustion from my eyes. It was difficult to piece together why I fell asleep holding it but, slowly, the memories returned - I couldn’t recall the dream, but I distinctly remembered how it _felt_. My stomach twisted into knots. After a brief glance at the strings of phrases written there, I decided it was far too early to try and decipher a dream journal - my head was too fuzzy for that.

Among a lot of nonsense were seemingly random words or phrases like, _“No one concedes” “Stiff [insult of some kind]” “combat training”._ They made me feel like I should remember them, but try as I may I couldn’t. Defeated, I stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, telling myself I’d come back and try to make sense of it after a quick jog. My first mission was to grab some coffee. With that in mind, I pulled on some workout appropriate clothes and headed into the kitchen.

Unfortunately I’d forgotten about our depressing lack of groceries, there wasn’t any coffee. So, defeated once more, I headed out into the chill of the morning with a piece of unbuttered toast between my teeth and a bottle of water in hand.

Running cleared the fog in my head, and distracted me from everything that had been happening lately. I relished in the burn of my muscles, the constriction of my lungs, throwing my head back before breaking into a full out run, just because I wanted to. Because I could. It felt amazing, familiar. After a few miles, I eased to a stop with my hands pressed to my thighs, catching my breath, and decided to walk. The dew from the grass had soaked into my shoes by this point, and I was beginning to feel chilled. I used my new pace as an opportunity to uncap my water, sucking down a much needed mouthful.

Now that I’d gotten a good hard run out of my system, I finally allowed myself to enjoy the morning - more so the silence of it than anything else. It was difficult to tell how long I’d been out, I’d forgotten my watch, but eventually I plopped down onto the next bench I came across; the sweat clinging to me had dried and my breathing was back to normal. I’d successfully erased any worry about dreams or exams and, for that, I was grateful. For a long time I sat and took in the view in front of me - the city wasn’t perfect, there were quite a few buildings that were ruined and unused, but it was home and I felt comfortable there. Safe.

Without thinking, my eyes were drawn to the building I knew housed the Pit, and I felt an inexplicable longing. I was not, and never had been, a partier - so it didn’t make sense that I wanted to go there so badly, but I did. I found myself craving the cool, dark atmosphere, and the smells; the swaths of strangers in black with dyed hair and piercings - I wanted to be one of them. That scared and excited me more than ever wanted to admit. I didn’t care about the music or the drinks, not even so much the company of my friends, but the damp cavern and its inhabitants themselves captivated me.

For a moment I was whisked away, reminded of running amidst a crowd of people that would fit right in at the club, rushing with them and feeling my body protest deliciously to the strenuous activity; of the pleasure it brought. I frowned, trying anxiously to piece together where that memory came from, but the scene faded into nothing and I was left with a hollow place where it should have been. It was infuriating. If that had been the first time that had happened, maybe I could have ignored it, chalked it up to a scene from a book or something, but it wasn’t. I’d been steadily experiencing more and more of those phantom memories over the last few weeks alongside my dreams. They were starting to drive me over the edge.

I lurched forward from the bench suddenly, as though burned, and opted to ignore that whole train of thought altogether. I needed to keep moving, I couldn’t let this control me. With a huff, I began running back the way I’d come, trying to shake off the loneliness left behind where the memory had been. I paused, then, knitting my brows together in confusion; why was I so certain that it had been a memory? I knew that, had I been in a group like that, I’d..remember it, wouldn’t I? Every detail with stunning precision? Eventually I reasoned with myself that I must have seen it happen somewhere - or heard about it in the news. Maybe it had been one of my dreams. Either way, it couldn’t possibly have been a memory. There was absolutely no way I could forget something that made me feel the way it had.

With that decided, I shook myself of the strange sensation and began running again, pushing myself hard enough that the only thing I could concentrate on were my steps, the fire in my lungs, and the acidic burn in my muscles. I ended up stopping for lunch at the cafeteria, and running for a few more hours - the thought of going home kept driving me back out - what would I do when I got there? Study, like I needed to? Or write that stupid paper? I imagined I’d be trapped in my head with the dreams and the loneliness and that wasn’t something I was ready to deal with.

When I finally convinced myself it was time to go home, I ran into Christina and Will walking between classes. They seemed surprised to see me - my face burned as I tried to imagine what I looked like to them. Flushed, and covered in sweat, probably pretty disgusting, but there was this big grin on my face, so that had to count for something, right? I jogged over to their side of the street and allowed myself to slow to a walk - I was thankful for once that I didn’t share certain classes with them. At least I was free to my own devices now and then - even if my idea of freedom was spontaneous day-long runs.

“Jeeze, wow. Getting an early start on the endurance tests?” Christina asked with a grin, looking me up and down with approval. I beamed at her and shrugged, trying to catch my breath.

“Yeah, something like that. How’s classes?” That earned me a scowl, but Will immediately dove into the topic with bright eyes and a brighter smile. Oops.

“Oh absolutely amazing - we’re doing our projects right now,” Cue the unenthusiastic cheer from Christina, I had to smile, “And we’re supposed to be getting into the mind of a psychopath, it’s really an interesting bit of psychology--”

Unfortunately, this went on for another fifteen minutes - I’d mistakenly gotten him started on a passionate tirade, something that had earned me a lot of narrowed eyes and frowns from my best friend. Normally I enjoyed these kinds of talks, but my exhaustion dampened my usual curiosity. It was endearing to see how seriously Will took these things, though, and I could see the admiration Christina was trying to hide when she looked at him. Neither of those things made the situation any less mind-numbingly difficult to focus on, however. I was itching to move. Suddenly, Chris made a soft gasping noise, and a big show of checking her watch, before grabbing his shoulder with an impressively serious expression. It was difficult not to laugh.

“Will, as badly as I’d _love_ to hear you go on about the wonders of psych, we’re going to be late for our lecture.” That seemed to get his attention, his eyes widened and he shot me an almost apologetic smile.

“I hate to leave in the middle of a discussion like this, but we’ve got to go - we can talk about it more at breakfast tomorrow, right Chris?” She groaned, which only served to make a laugh bubble up from my chest, and I nodded at him encouragingly. Maybe a good night’s sleep would make hearing about the mind of a murderer more interesting.

“Sure thing, now go - before you’re late!” Seeing them had definitely improved my mood. Once they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, I crossed back to the correct side of the road, feeling optimistic on my way home. When I finally got back, my goal was clear - I gathered up everything I’d need for a shower and shut myself in our small bathroom. I was moving on autopilot by this point, manually washing the sweat and grime from myself before pulling on the softest pajamas I could find. The run had been nice, but it left me sore and exhausted.

One less than pleasant meal of instant noodles later found me sitting in front of my computer with a determined scowl on my face. I was going to write at least a few pages, the deadline was looming ever nearer, and I’d yet to get anything done. Not even an outline. So I pushed the thought of examining the dream journal to the back of my mind, promising that I’d read it over once I had some solid work done on my actual assignment. Running must have done better than I thought to clear my head, because I had absolutely no trouble finding the right words when I started typing. Somehow, a couple of paragraphs turned into finishing the entire thing in one sitting, getting lost in facts and theories, and by the time I’d typed up the closing paragraph my eyes were so tired I could barely see.  
  
I ended up falling asleep without even opening the notebook.

* * *

 

The following weeks passed by in a blur of activity. Between studying and final assignments, as well as preparing for the academy, I’d been dead on my feet and ready for it all to be done with. On top of that, the occurrences involving Peter and company had gotten worse - probably no thanks to me covering him in food in front of tons of people. I’d been hoping that after our encounter in the dining hall they would have stepped back and left me alone - unfortunately, I’d never been a particularly lucky person. It went from seeing them a few times every day or so to dealing with their irritating presences almost daily - if not more than that. I’d taken to eating in our apartment again, much to Christina’s disapproval and my shame. It felt like hiding, but I reasoned that if I didn’t avoid them I was likely to get in a fight. If there was a next time I might not have been able to stop myself from throwing punches.

All three of them had been doing everything they could to make me look like an idiot in lectures, in front of my friends, strangers - when and wherever they could. I’d about had it. They seemed to have decided I was their personal plaything. I’d been desperately waiting for Christina to be right, for them to get bored with me, but it hadn’t happened so far. I found myself wondering now and then what I’d done to deserve it, aside from flipping Peter’s tray which has absolutely been paid back by now.

In the end I found myself chalking it up to jealousy - it didn’t take a genius to see that I was excelling in some of the classes that they were barely scraping by in - but that thought felt cocky, like something they would brag about, so I tried not to think that way. Sometimes it made me feel a bit better, though. The only thing I could be grateful for was the fact that after a solid week and a half of torture, I hadn’t seen them for three whole days. Apparently they were busy with exams, too.

For the better of an hour I’d been working on piecing together a full semester’s worth of notes into some semblance of a study guide, for myself and the others to go over. We were supposed to be meeting up at Will’s place for a last ditch effort of studying; Al’s roommate had banned us coming over and we’d already made the boys travel to our apartment several times over the last few weeks, so his place had been the best option. We had  tackled almost all of our exams by this point, but there was still a lot of work to do for Al and Christina’s last two, though mine and Will’s last one wouldn’t be half as bad.

When I finally glanced up from the piles of notes, I found that it was nearly five in the afternoon. Damn. I’d been responsible for the study information while everyone else had been gathering snacks and drinks for our late night session, time had gotten away from me. I was going to be late. Just thinking about the commute over, and the late night ahead of us already had me exhausted. One more test and I’d be free for three months before the academy. I definitely needed the break.

It didn’t take long to get to Will’s place - only a few blocks from our apartment, really - but the walk was made more difficult thanks to the heavy bags full of notes and fake quizzes I’d compiled hanging by each of my hips. It was apparently not my night - when I stepped into the lobby of Will’s apartment complex I was greeted by a sheet of glaring yellow paper informing me the elevator was broken. Lovely. By the time I made it up ten flights of stairs to his apartment I was ready to curl up and take a nap, suddenly thankful for my impulsive runs. At least I had stamina on my side. My breaths were heavy and the jacket I’d chosen to protect me from the last chill of the afternoon had gone from my savior to my enemy. My form of knocking was to kick the door a few times, nearly falling over from the weight of my cargo in the process.

In a matter of moments, a streak of warm yellow light greeted me as Al opened the door. I hated the instinctive discomfort that grew in my chest when his eyes lit up at the sight of me. He almost immediately took both of the heavy satchels from me before moving out of the doorway, sputtering about how I should have called for help from the lobby. Normally I would have complained that I was capable of bearing the weight, but with the bags removed my shoulders stopped aching as badly, so I thanked him instead.

Once I stepped closer to the doorway, I caught the middle of a heated debate going on about the stipulation and rules surrounding the rights to search a civilian without a warrant - it made me smile. Leave it to Will and Christina to find anything to disagree on and argue about it at length. They were laughing, though, so that was a good sign. I finally stepped inside and closed the door behind me with my foot, making quick work of the jacket that was threatening to suffocate me.

Before I got there, I’d been hopeful that the encounter would be fun, despite the studying - it usually was, but upon turning to stand on my tiptoes and hang up my coat, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Upon turning my head to put a name to the silent roommate, I found the last person I’d want to see. There went my three day record of avoiding him. This had definitely not been my day. He wasn’t interacting with the others at all - he was simply filling a glass with water in their kitchenette, but somehow he managed to do even that simple task with an air of smugness. I scowled as I took in his appearance, tired and relaxed; he was wearing a loose tank top that blended into the black cotton pants hanging from his hips, and I was surprised by the outfit - I’d never seen him in anything but jeans or shorts and t-shirts. When my name was called in greeting from across the room, he looked up and smirked at me - I found myself boiling with rage in a matter of seconds.

No wonder Will had been avoiding having us study at his place - _Peter_ was his roommate. Poor Will. The smug brunette raised the glass to his lips and took a long drink - I could feel Chris and Will looking at me as I shot daggers at Peter pointedly, hoping to burn a hole in his skull with my eyes alone. During the entire encounter he hadn’t broken eye contact with me once; I could safely say that his shade of green was not on my list of favorite colors. Once he finished drinking he popped his lips and let out a satisfied “ _Ahh_.”  I didn’t realize my hands were in fists until I felt the ache of my nails digging hard into my palms. Peter tilted his head and chuckled like someone leaned in and told him a particularly amusing joke - I knew my cheeks were burning bright red. I hated him more than ever in that moment.

“Something I can do for you, _Beatrice_? Some water, maybe - all those stairs can wear a person out.” He spat my name like it was an insult, but his tone was amused, rather than angry. I didn’t look away from him, knowing he’d take it as an act of submission. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of winning. The sound of Christina clearing her throat snapped me back into reality after a few tense seconds - it reminded me of why I was there in the first place - that I was in a house filled with my friends, who were waiting for me to join them.

He made a little shooing motion with his hands as though giving me permission to leave - I was tempted to throw the closest object I could find at his head for it, but he turned away and walked down the hall that lead to their rooms before I could. I managed to uncurl my fists and strode across the room to sit and stew in the recliner positioned on the far side of their apartment. The kitchenette was blocked from that angle, which helped calm my anger a little bit. The following silence was awkward.

“I’m sorry, Tris, he said  he was going to be out tonight.” Will’s apology was quiet - I shrugged as though I could care less and summoned a smile. It was hard to imagine my expression was convincing, but they didn’t push it.

“So, where are we starting?” Even I could hear that my voice was strained with irritation, but I was trying, and my friends were kind enough to pretend that the tension in the air wasn’t thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Well, you can start by agreeing with _me_ ,” Christina started without missing a beat, “That searching someone on the street just because they look _sketchy_ is not a valid reason and is profiling.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed as Will flew off on a tangent about how of _course_ it sounded bad when she put it that way. I suddenly found myself grateful for the wonderful people around me, grounding me and keeping me sane. The debate went on on for another ten minutes before we finally managed to settle into our circle, notes spread all around, and began quizzing one another. It was easy to forget about Peter among my friends; between Will and Christina cracking jokes and Al good naturedly trying to stay neutral in every fight, I even managed to have a good time. We made a decent amount of progress and, by the middle of the night, I felt confident that not only I, but everyone else in the room, stood a chance of passing any test thrown at us. After nearly three solid hours everyone decided to stretch out and passed around snacks and drinks.

During their bathroom visits and walking around to get the feeling back in their legs, I stayed stubbornly planted in my seat. I was in a great mood, I didn’t need to run into Peter and ruin that. Al seemed to take notice of my position and walked over with two drinks and a couple packages of snack cakes. He tossed me one of the cakes, offering the drink once I’d caught it, and gave me a long, thoughtful look. I forced a smile onto my face and raised my brows in a silent question, urging him to say whatever it was that was important enough to keep him hovering like this.

“You’re crazy smart, you know?” He asked quietly, choosing to pop the seal on his drink and sip on it rather than look at me for any longer than he already had. Inwardly I cringed, wondering where this was going, but I managed to laugh half heartedly.

“You’re smart, too, Al. Just, not at the same things I am - you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” He frowned at that and gave me a pointed look. The same one Christina was famous for when she knew for a fact I was lying. I chose that moment to open my own drink, and pretended to read the package of the snack cake. Dauntless Delight: So Good It’s Scary. I frowned for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable wave familiarity, but Al’s voice pulled me back to our conversation, and the feeling was forgotten.

“It’s okay, I know I’m not super smart - I can still make it as a regular cop, you guys will all be big, important people, but the force always needs more plain guys like me.” Thankfully Will came back in the room with Christina in tow, arguing over which brand of drinks was more enticing, and I didn’t have to respond to Al’s self depreciating comment. I wanted to shake him, tell him that he could only be as good as he believed, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Without much enthusiasm we all went right back to the grindstone, quizzing Christina while she balanced a can on her head.

The next time I looked up to the clock, I had to rub my eyes to focus on the numbers clearly - finding that we’d been at it for nearly six and a half hours. I took a look around, seeing cans of various energy drinks and empty snack wrappers littering the floor - Al  had finally fallen asleep after retiring to the couch half an hour ago and Chris and Will were curled up together on the floor; her head rested in his lap, and he was laid back against the wall.

I couldn’t imagine the position was comfortable, but I didn’t bother them. I’d learned by then that neither of that pair were particularly fun to wake up, and besides, it was sort of sweet to look at. I knew by the following morning they would both be lying down anyway, I found myself hoping that was sooner rather than later, before Will wound up with a sore back. The small, selfish part of me silently rejoiced at the fact that I was free to crash on Will’s bed instead of in the recliner - that realization paired with my screaming bladder were excellent motivation to get me up and out of the chair.

With a groan and some semi-painful joint popping, I managed to untangle myself from the mess of notes and trash I’d accumulated, rubbing my hands over my eyes in the hope of relaxing the deep ache behind them. As quietly as possible, I scooped up my overnight bag and made my way to the bathroom down the hall. Almost the moment my fingers flipped the switch, I regretted it as the small room was instantly flooded with searingly bright light.

I’d grown used to the dim lamps of the living room. Once I’d adjusted,  I forced myself to look up into the mirror with only mild discomfort. I looked half dead. There were dark rings beneath my eyes, which were bloodshot and half lidded, and my skin was even paler than usual. One emptied bladder later left me washing my hands before retrieving my toothbrush. Sluggishly, I managed to dampen the bristles and coat them in toothpaste, brushing at the speed of a slow crawl.

“You’re taking forever - cover up, I’m coming in. Or don’t, I really could care less.” Peter’s voice was tired, but that didn’t make it any less annoying, the sound made me jump and I nearly dropped my toothbrush in the process. I glanced his way and scowled - I definitely had closed that door before, but he’d come in anyway, without even waiting for an okay. Apparently privacy was something he cared little about - I felt myself bristling with anger.

“That’s unfortunate.” My voice was curt - I made it a point not to look at him, mostly out of spite - I worked on brushing my teeth, focusing on my personal hygiene rather than my growing hatred.  He could be annoying all he wanted, I wouldn’t rise to his bait - not this time. When he moved closer, I flinched, he was near enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, which I chose to ignore. He didn’t make any move to touch or hurt me, though, simply grabbing for his own toothbrush and applying paste to it without wetting it before shoving it past his lips. “You really are evil,” I grumbled around my own brush, which seemed to amuse him. I could just see the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile - so much for not looking at him. My eyes caught his in the mirror for a second before I stared at his forehead instead.

His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and it looked like he was barely even awake. I decided quickly to keep my eyes trained on his face after a cursory glance down - he’d lost the tank top from before and I didn’t need him knowing that his partial nudity made me uncomfortable. Even more than that, I didn’t need him to accuse me of gawking. I got the distinct feeling it would just fuel the taunts either way. Peter was surprisingly quiet during this entire uncomfortable exchange, only leaning near me when he needed to spit in the sink. More than once his arm brushed mine, and I flinched at how warm he was - I was icy by comparison.

Neither of us talked, which I was absolutely fine with. I rushed my way through the motions before rinsing my brush out, eager to be finished - he was near enough for me to smell his cologne, and that was far too close for comfort. The sooner I could get out of that cramped bathroom and away from him, the better. He leaned in and spat another mouthful of foam, watching me as I carefully put my things in my overnight bag, running water over his brush before shoving it back into his mouth. I’d just have to change in Will’s room, since Peter decided I didn’t even deserve the privacy to use their bathroom in peace.

I added that to the long list of reasons I couldn’t wait to show him up in the academy. It was right up there next to “being an insufferable dick.”

“You’re in my way, Hayes,” I tried to fill the word with as much venom as possible, but it just came out thin and annoyed. My voice was tired, like the rest of me, spread too thin. He smirked with the brush still in his mouth, and moved past me roughly, his shoulder hitting mine deliberately and far harder than necessary. The warmth was there again, but I ignored it and smirked, celebrating a small victory at the knowledge that I’d annoyed him. My arm hurt from the contact, but I wasn’t going to show him that. As I left, I heard him turn the water back on, followed by a ceramic _clink_ as he put his toothbrush away.

Once I stepped back into the hall, I had to blink a few times to allow my eyes to adjust to the dark contrast before heading further into the shadows. It only went a little further than the bathroom before ending abruptly with two doors facing one another at the end. I chose the blank one; the other had a large whiteboard hanging from it with a message informing anyone who wanted to enter that they were welcome to fuck off, signed Peter. I had absolutely no interest in going through that door. I slipped in Will’s room while the water was still running in the bathroom, and kicked the door shut behind me firmly. Once I was alone I became aware of my rapid heartbeat and the heat in my cheeks, clearly I was still angry. Of course, I had every right to be.

My fingers fumbled for the light switch before my surroundings were illuminated in the same painfully bright light from the bathroom. I found myself genuinely surprised at how neat the room was once I could see it properly - everything seemed to have its place. If I recalled correctly, the last time I’d been in here a few months back, it had been a horrifying mess. Good for Will. I dropped my bag in the floor by his bed, and set to work, changing as fast as I could manage through my fatigue. Even as I wiggled into the soft pajama bottoms, I began to think that sleeping in my regular clothes would have been much simpler.

I almost let myself forget about the bathroom incident in the weight of weariness that had settled into my bones. It was only when I had the material of my night shirt tucked halfway down my chest that I heard the creak of a door behind me and I was reminded. My heart lodged itself in my throat, but I tried to calm myself. Logically, Peter had no reason to barge in there. It was more realistic that Will had woken up and decided he’d much rather sleep in his bed than on the floor. Now I had a new reason to worry. Damn. What if Christina was with him? Double damn.

The opening of the door was swiftly followed by a low, rumbling laugh. I would have recognized it anywhere, the sound had an uncanny ability to set my veins aflame. I was thankful that, at the very least, I’d been facing away from the door. This was low, even for Peter. Now he was just being inappropriate. I immediately pulled my shirt the rest of the way down, glad to know that all he saw were a few inches of skin on my lower back. I rounded on him then, ready to attack, but he cut me off before the words can even come out of my mouth.

“Oh wow. _Nice._ I mean, I figured all that anger was just pent up sexual aggression, but this is desperate, even for you,” The knot in my stomach tightened as I glared up at him, unsure as to what part of changing in a room on my own was desperate. I was sure he’d be happy to tell me. I felt far less intimidating in my night clothes, especially since he had the advantage of height and size on me, but I still glared up at him defiantly. I wasn’t going down without a fight - even if that meant touching his stupid bare chest to shove him. I was positive he realized that, because he raised his hands in a mock surrender, eyes wide and innocent despite the fact that I knew he was far from it.

“Why’d you come in here, Peter, can’t I have even a little bit of privacy?”

“Well, I was planning on sleeping, but this is good, too.” He smirked, pointedly looking me up and down before his cruel eyes found mine again. I hated him.

“Why don’t you sleep in your _own_ room and leave me alone?” This was getting exhausting.

“Mm. Well. A little trouble there,” He started, and I could tell he was trying to keep himself from grinning as he lifted his hand to measure a small distance between his thumb and forefinger, squinting one eye shut in the process. “This _is_ my room, so the better question here..” The glee in his eyes filled me with dread as he took another step forward, hands resting on his bare hips. I instinctively glanced down at the movement, rapidly looking up again as I was filled with regret - I couldn’t help noticing that he had freckles on his stomach. “Is why are _you_ here?” I choked, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as he jabbed a finger into my shoulder before pulling his hand back. I shouldn’t have had to explain myself to _Peter_ of all people, especially when he was flat out lying, just to annoy me. He raised his brows with a crooked sort of smile.

“I- but this is Will’s--”

“Shh. You don’t need to make up excuses, Prior, it’s just you and me - besides, how could you _possibly_ think this was Will’s room? My name is on the board out front - or can you not read?” My stomach flipped - that wasn’t right..earlier it had been on the other door - that was the whole reason I’d chosen _this_ room! He was right, though - just behind him I could see light bouncing off its surface - his whiteboard was unmistakably hanging on the door. I was in Peter’s room, according to that.

If looks could kill, he would have been on the floor but, unfortunately, I didn’t possess that ability. So he was still standing there, looking simultaneously amused and pleased with himself. He’d planned this just to embarrass me, I wasn’t sure why I was even surprised by that fact, but it still stung to accept it. He laughed freely, arms crossed over his chest - I made it a point to stare at his chin. I didn’t need to learn anything else about Peter or his freckles, thank you very much.

“Oh man, this is so sad. I mean, you’re trying, and I’ll give you points for that, but wow. It’s like being threatened by a little girl, just look at you.” My cheeks burned at the insult as he gestured to all of me - it wasn’t the first time he’d used that line or something similar to it, but it didn’t hurt any less this time than it had before. I was well aware of my figure, I’d never been anyone’s idea of a grown woman; I still hadn’t developed much and had no real curves to speak of, but he didn’t need to compare me to a child.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he stepped out of the doorway and pointed to the hall, a smug expression on his face. “Really, I’m flattered, but I’m not interested. I only fuck big girls, maybe when you grow up. Go on to sleep now, it’s beddy bye time,” It shamed me to admit that the brazen use of the word made me blush, but hopefully he didn’t catch that - I was already red-faced with anger.

He squatted slightly as I stepped towards the doorway to match my height, talking to me as though I were younger than him, and just like that I snapped. Without thinking, I threw my fist forward in his direction, I wanted to punch him in the face, but I ended up hitting the soft skin of his stomach instead. He was still infuriatingly warm. It was a lovely feeling, when my knuckles made contact and he buckled forward slightly, letting out a sharp “ _Oof_ ” as the wind was knocked from him. His eyes flared with anger and he flinched forward marginally, as though considering some kind of retaliation - I wasn’t prepared to protect myself, the punch left me entirely undefended.

After a tense moment he dropped his fists, though, rubbing his stomach with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes, and I took the opportunity to rear back and hit him again - this time I was determined to strike him in the face, I was still too angry. My second punch glanced harmlessly off of his forearm as he blocked it and, faster than I could register, his fingers tightened around my wrist in a vice. Suddenly his strength compared to mine was put into perspective for me. I expected to feel him punch me back, to retaliate, but he just held my arm in the air, flaunting his power over me. His expression was cold, calculating, and sent a shudder through me. If he wanted to hurt me, he could have easily - I got the feeling that he wouldn’t feel any remorse, but I didn’t feel any for hitting him, so maybe we were alike in that sense. The comparison made me sick.

“That wasn’t very smart of you.” Peter was staring down at me with his eyes narrowed, considering me for a long moment. I could tell I’d made him angry, he was no longer smirking and his jaw was set tight. Something about his quiet voice and the fact that he hadn’t retaliated was somehow more alarming to me by far than if he’d punched me in the face. It reminded me of his sullen rage in the cafeteria. I yanked my wrist, hard, but he didn’t let go just yet, squeezing tighter just to make a point. Slowly, he leaned in closer than I was comfortable with, until I could see that his pupils were blown out, making his eyes look black. He was breathing heavily.

“You should apologize while I’m feeling particularly forgiving,” While I was glad to see the satisfied confidence from earlier wiped from his face, the one that replaced it - brooding and angry - was somehow worse. I felt the sinking suspicion that this was going to come back to bite me somehow, but that didn’t make me feel bad for hitting him - he deserved it.

“You’re such a prick,” It wasn’t the stabbing insult I’d hoped to shoot his way, but I couldn’t think of anything clever when he was hovering in front of me, when his breath - an overpowering scent of cinnamon - was fanning my face “I’m not afraid of you..” I hissed. It didn’t do anything to quell my anger when the corners of his lips tilted upward into a smile. The only label for that look in his eye would be dangerous. I’d stepped into the eye of the storm.

“We’ll see about that.”

His fingers released my wrist, finally, and I jerked it back to my body, rubbing the soreness out with my free hand. It was highly possible there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers there in the morning. He leaned back, freeing up the space of his doorway so that I could get by - I half expected him to shove me into the frame, or do something equally violent, but he just stood there - watching me. That was definitely worse. I turned my back on him warily, storming through Will’s door, which I slammed pointedly behind me.

I made sure to lock it firmly before I did anything else, nearly falling over myself in the mess of a room - of course his habits hadn’t changed. I should have known better. I realized about as soon as I picked my way through the minefield of dirty clothes, books, and shoes that my overnight bag was still sitting beside Peter’s bed. Full of my clothes for tomorrow. I knew there was no way I could swallow my pride enough to go back out there and demand it from him, I would just devolve into violence again. The look on his face as he demanded an apology flashed in my mind again and I shivered, rubbing at my wrist absentmindedly. No. I’d deal with it in the morning, when things had cooled down, for the moment I needed to rest.

I dropped into Will’s bed without even pulling up the covers and fell asleep in a matter of minutes, haunted by the feel of dark green eyes boring into my soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear Peter won't be a total prick forever, but for now he's an absolute fucker and I'm sorry about that. Had a lot of fun writing this chapter! There will be updates for my other story, soon, but I had to spend the last week or so rewriting all of this, I decided I wasn't a fan of the present tense so here we are now (the first two chapters were revised and rewritten). Reviews are always much appreciated!


	4. Marcid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcid  
> (n.) withered; incredibly exhausted

A loud buzzing in my ear woke me abruptly, and, in the otherwise pitch black room, Will’s alarm clock glared from my right, blaring the time at me in agonizingly bright letters. It was just past seven in the morning, which didn’t leave me a very big window to get across campus in time to take my final exam. Without hesitation, I heaved myself out of bed and stretched, nearly tripping a couple dozen times over Will’s mess before I finally found the door handle.

I gave it a jiggle, feeling frustrated when it didn’t budge - it was then that I remembered two important details. I’d punched Peter last night, hard enough to warrant bruises on my wrist..and my things were still in his room. Damn it. I unlocked Will’s door quickly and stormed into the hall, going right up to Peter’s room. My first instinct was to not wake him, not out of kindness, but because it meant I didn’t have to see the smug look on his face when I asked for my things back, so I tried the door. He had no reason to lock it, right?

Wrong.

I roughly jiggled it just to make sure, but he had most definitely locked it. Giving up on stealth, I banged my fist against his door a few times - I’d have loved nothing more than to irritate him now that I’d given up letting him sleep. Unfortunately, my friends were still asleep just down the hall and I didn’t want to wake them, let alone have to explain why I was beating on the door of someone I hated at seven in the morning like a lunatic. When he didn’t respond I felt myself crumple - I didn’t have time to go home and change, so I’d either have to take my exam late or go in my pajamas.

Did he know my bag was in there? He had to - his room was immaculate, there was no way he’d have overlooked it. I scowled at his whiteboard, feeling as though it was mocking me, and roughly erased the message from it out of sheer spite before storming away. I was suddenly thankful that my choice of night clothes were tasteful - and I was sure I wouldn’t be the only one in my lecture hall in PJs. Defeated, and close to being late, I resigned to toeing on my shoes and sluggishly grabbing my jacket off the hook - my only other stop was to swipe a cup of cold coffee from their inactive machine - before leaving as quietly as I could manage.

After that I moved in autopilot, running to campus, sliding into my chair and answering the questions before me when the exam was finally handed out. It wasn’t until after I got out of the lecture hall two and a half grueling hours later, that I realized my phone was dead. I had hoped on going back to Will’s place after everything was finished and demanding my things back, but I had no way of checking to see if he was even home. Great. In a way, I was thankful for the need to go home first - I might have been okay with going to my exam dressed the way I was, but I didn’t want to parade around the block in my pajamas. I desperately needed to change before I went anywhere else - my phone was just the final straw. The bag could wait a little longer.

Once I made it into our apartment and had plugged the phone up to charge, I plopped down in my computer chair, waiting for it to turn on. Knowing Christina, she’d already texted me with plans for celebration - I felt a little bad for her and Al, the pair of them would have to sit through two finals today - so I didn’t need to find out at the last minute. As soon as it turned on, I wished I hadn’t bothered with the thing - just watching the notifications pop up was exhausting.

I wasn’t typically that popular, but then, it just figured that when it was dead I’d get the most attention, right? By the time it finished buzzing at me, there were six texts in total. One was from, surprise surprise, Christina, saying we’d all be meeting up at The Pit; non-negotiable. The next was Al’s, telling me he’d gotten his results from the Criminology exam he’d taken a few days ago and that he’d passed with flying colors, so that wasn’t as bad.

Then there were the remaining four to deal with. They were from a number I didn’t recognize - the first was a picture message, which filled me with wariness. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I prepared to open it, I found myself worrying that, maybe, I’d become a victim of the dreaded phenomena I’d heard people on campus, as well as Christina at length, complaining about.

I shuddered at the thought of a stranger sending me private pictures of themselves, but forced myself to open it, one eye closed and the other squinted, ready to close entirely at the first hint of genitalia. The image was, thankfully, not any part of anyone’s anatomy, but I felt my stomach clench with dread all the same. It was my overnight bag, sitting open in Peter’s bedroom floor right where I’d left it. Lovely. At least I knew who it was.

[10:34AM] Unknown: _If this is a gift, it’s a really shitty one. There aren’t even any panties._

[10:39AM] Unknown: _Aw, don’t ignore me, I was kidding about the panties. I don’t want yours._

[10:46AM] Unknown: _You can have this back, but I’d like something in return for my kindness._

[10:52AM] Unknown: _I’m getting bored waiting. Give me an answer by noon or I’m trashing it._

I scowled at my phone, thinking to myself that it was over. There wasn’t anything in that stupid bag worth the amount of pride I’d have to swallow to retrieve, right? I was almost positive it was mostly toiletries, I could replace them easily, and my clothes of course - also replaceable. It felt too much like losing to just let him have my things, though, and I silently cursed. My attention was drawn, temporarily, to my left wrist, which was ringed in a light shade of purple from where his fingers had held on last night.

I wondered if I’d left a bruise on his stomach, but doubted it. That left a sour taste in my mouth. If I fought him, he’d win; if I didn’t fight him, he’d win. I was almost positive I had enough time to run the few blocks’ distance from my place to his and demand my things back before it was noon - a cursory glance at the clock told me I had a fifteen minute window - but l sat in my seat, glaring down at my phone instead.

I knew that, if I were to ask, Christina would tell me to ignore him, that he’d just get bored and leave it for Will to pick up for me, but I didn’t want to ask her about this situation and have to explain how I’d even gotten myself into that predicament in the first place. Giving myself advice in her stead did little to curb the edge on my anger - I wasn’t able to follow it at all. The stubborn side of me knew ignoring him would have been the coward’s way out - I couldn’t quite swallow that pill. The sound of a new notification pulled me out of my internal struggle, and I glanced down to find another message from Peter. Another picture. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was a picture of my dream journal.

Damn it.

[11:46AM] Peter Hayes: _Pretty interesting stuff in here, Prior. Who knew you could string together this many sentences? Color me impressed._

[11:46AM] Me: _Stop going through my things!_

Rather than hearing another tinkling chime of a notification, I was startled by the sound of my ringtone blaring at me, and nearly jumped out of my skin. One glance down at the illuminated device in my hand told me that Peter Hayes was calling me. The bastard. I stared at the androgynous blob that stood in for his profile picture and considered not answering it.

I wasn’t sure I could handle his stupid, smug tone right then, but the dream log wasn’t something I wanted to lose..or to go public or something. It was my only connection to the insane world I lived in, only during sleep, I still hadn’t sat down and read the mindless writing within, but I suddenly felt passionately protective of that little book, now that I knew whose hands it was in. With a sigh of defeat, I flicked my thumb over the ‘accept’ button, and lifted the phone to my ear. The first sound I registered was his laughter - it was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Are you scowling? I can hear it, you totally are. You shouldn’t do that--you’ll get wrinkles faster that way..”

“Get to the point, Peter.”

“Killjoy.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I sighed and leaned back into my desk chair, pinching the bridge of my nose with my free hand - I still hadn’t changed or taken a shower, but then, even if I wanted to, Peter had my supplies. I hated him so much. “Okay, so I figure I should get some kind of finder’s fee, or _something_ , y’know? I mean, who else would save all your stuff from being thrown out or stolen? No one. Now I know, I know - the soap and stuff isn’t worth a favor, but I’m betting this book of yours is pretty important - and spare me the speech about righteousness, I’ve just eaten, I don’t need to throw up a perfectly good lunch.”

If it was even possible, I frowned harder. What an asshole. “You didn’t _rescue_ my things, you tricked me and then locked them in your room with you. Not the same thing. If anything _you_ stole them.”

“So you _did_ try to get in this morning. I thought so.” He sounded proud of himself, I fought back a scoff, and glared at my bedroom wall with growing hatred. He was absolutely not making it easy on me at all, but I hadn’t exactly expected him to. “You know, if you wanted to see me naked that badly, all you had to do was ask. Don’t get me wrong--I’d have said no, but you could still ask.” My nails dug deep into my palms as I swallowed a groan of frustration, I didn’t want him to know he was pushing my buttons - I wouldn’t give him that kind of power.

Or, rather, any more than he already had. “Besides, I can’t steal something you left in my room - that’s just you being neglectful. You wanna fight me on this, then you get get to explain why you had an overnight bag there in the first place. I bet your whole ‘I thought it was _Will’s_ room’ argument will be _super_ convincing.” I wanted to hit him so badly. I could hear him grinning from ear to ear, it was easy to picture the corners of his lips turned up into that sneer of his that I hated so much.

“Yes. I tried to get my stuff back, but unfortunately you’re an _ass_ hole so that didn’t happen. What do you _want,_ Peter?” I didn’t mean to sound as tired as I did, I’d intended for that sentence to be full of venom, but I couldn’t find it in me. I was drained, and spread too thin. Between his stupid antics and the exhausting week of finals, I didn’t want to argue with him over such a childish issue. We were adults for God’s sake. I just wanted to get my things and take a nice warm shower - to rest my sore muscles and not think about him or his infuriating friends in the - hopefully - peaceful weeks to come before dealing with the police academy. But no. I was there - arguing with him over a fucking duffel bag. It was equally frustrating and baffling.

“Ooh, such language. It’s unbecoming of you, Beatrice.” Bastard. “So..what _do_ I want?” He was happy to drag it out, making a soft ‘hmm’ as though he hadn’t considered until now what he wanted out of this. I could easily conjure up an image of him rubbing his chin thoughtfully - it filled me with rage. I knew better than to believe he hadn’t thought this all over, very carefully, but I didn’t correct him. I stayed stubbornly silent.

He wanted to get a rise out of me, if I were to just shut up, and let him listen to the sound of his own voice, this call would be shorter and we could come to a resolution about my things much quicker. Or, so I hoped, anyway. I noticed when my palm brushed my cheek that my face was hot to the touch, which only proved to annoy me further. Why was he so good at working me into a rage? “I think I’ll settle on..hmm..you taking me out for dinner,” I must have heard that wrong. I absolutely did not hear what I thought I did.

“Excuse me?” Peter wanted me to take him out..to dinner? I wracked my brain, trying to figure out his angle, waiting for him to shout about how he was kidding. Instead he chuckled on his end. It sounded weird through the speakers, softer than usual. It was disarming - I wanted to be off of the line with him as quickly as possible, I didn’t want to hear any more noises that were softened over our connection. My mouth pulled down into a scowl, but almost immediately winced and relaxed my expression. The muscles in my face hurt from all the scowls and frowns I’d trained into my features as of late - it wasn’t as though I were a particularly sunny person on a good day, but this was even more severe than usual. I blamed that on Peter as well as my mounting headache.

“You heard me, Prior. I want you to take me out on _one_ date. I’m not into you, I know you’ve got this huge crush on me but that’s not what this is about, just so we’re clear, I only want to make you uncomfortable. This way I get to embarrass you in public and you can’t just throw food in my face - that’s a stipulation by the way - plus I get a free meal out of it.”

I had been shocked into silence. This had to be some kind of sick joke, but as I thought about it, I suddenly realized that it _was_. The date itself was a twisted jape, and I was the punchline. He sighed on his end, sounding impatient. Good. I happily made the prick wait, he was talking about forcing me out in public, about me spending my own money to entertain the pair of us, when all I wanted to do was punch him until he fell unconscious. He could wait a few more moments in anticipation - it served him right to get some kind of punishment out of this.

“Do we have a deal, or do I need to go find a dumpster?”

“Fine.” I snapped, more harshly than I’d expected to - he laughed. Damn it. “Not tonight - I have plans - and I don’t want you touching my things any more than you already have, or the deal’s off.” I forced myself to say through gritted teeth, the words dripping with venom. _I hate you_ is what I meant to say. I hoped he could hear the unsaid words - he was fairly smart, I imagined he was capable of reading between the lines. I’d agree to his game, but I didn’t have to be happy about it, though part of me was sure that he was glad for my displeasure. That was the whole point, after all, wasn’t it?

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details. I’m glad to hear we could come to some kind of agreement - after all, it would be such a shame to see that journal wind up in the hands of..oh, I dunno, maybe some of the people we’ll be working with in the academy?” Rather than reply to him, I pulled my phone away, surprised at how warm it was in my hand, and ended the call before throwing it off to the side. I rested my hands on my face and let out a groan, wondering what I’d done to deserve this kind of punishment, when I heard another irritating chirp from my phone - two, to be exact. Great. What now?

[11:47AM] Peter Hayes: _You’re taking me somewhere nice - so make sure your friend picks your outfit. It won’t be casual. ;)_

[11:47AM] Peter Hayes: _We’ll go tomorrow night at 6, I’ll tell you where on the way._

One look down filled me with regret - fire was scorching through my veins and I wanted nothing more than to hit something. Some _one_. I wanted to punch Peter again, to take out all of my pent up rage on him until my knuckles were raw and his face was unrecognizable. It would have been far simpler than dealing with this. Without hesitation I grabbed the closest pillow and buried my face in it before screaming my frustration out until I had no air left and my throat was raw.

If I could have killed Peter and gotten away with it, I would have in an instant. I really and truly would have. Instead, I laid down with my pillow over my face, wondering for the millionth time what on earth I could have done to warrant this kind of insanity in my life. I’d been a good daughter, a good student, I didn’t deserve Peter fucking Hayes.

No one deserved that.

* * *

 

“It’s really not that hard, Tris,” Christina chastised me with a playful tone - though she had to yell to be heard over the music. She had originally convinced me to leave the booth - where I’d been brooding all night - under the guise of buying more drinks, which drunk me was absolutely on board for. That had been a lie, it seemed, and by the time I noticed her pulling me into the crowd of sweating bodies that seemed to be ever constant in the heart of The Pit, it was too late to run away. She gently tugged at my wrists as I stood there awkwardly, flinching each time a stranger brushed my arm - I didn’t want to be there and, even in my inebriated state, I knew I wasn’t the kind of person who could just let loose and dance like she wanted me to. I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Her eyes were challenging me, though, and suddenly the little voice that always got me into trouble started whispering in my ear, telling me that I’d stood up to Peter so I could stand up to this, too. It might even be fun. I was just about drunk enough to believe it. A few hours prior to this, we’d all met up at the same booth as we’d been in the last time, and shared a few rounds of drinks. I didn’t mention Peter to any of them, but drank more heavily than I usually would, in the hopes of forgetting that I’d agreed to his idiotic blackmail.

If I was being honest with myself, I’d had entirely too much for someone who never did that sort of thing, but I decided that I’d earned it, and that I didn’t care about the consequences. I was angry, and free to do whatever I pleased. The alcohol made my head fuzzy and the room was subtly spinning, but I’d been having a good time up until all of..however many minutes ago it had been since I’d been tricked by my best friend. Christina began to dance with reckless abandon as I shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do with my body. Was this what fun felt like? The part of me that I’d been listening to more and more was convincing me to dance, that was what I’d decided on, right? Not being a coward - which meant dancing if it scared me.

So I frowned and paid closer attention to the way she was moving, I could feel my face burning, and I wasn’t entirely convinced it didn’t have more to do with my own embarrassment than it did with the alcohol in my system, or the heat of the crowd around me. In the name of stamping out my own cowardice, I let my arms become more limber until Christina was tugging and twisting me to and fro with ease, mimicking those around us. She grinned victoriously; after a few minutes of this, I was almost positive I understood what she was trying to get me to do, and started to move the rest of my body along to the beat.

It made my skin prickle with something akin to shame when her hands dropped from mine, and my movements were entirely my own. What if someone saw me like this? The thought alone had my stomach in knots. I swallowed hard, and tried to ignore the negative emotions balling up inside of me, threatening to ruin my otherwise good night. I focused, instead, on the warm, light feeling the alcohol had given me, and the steady rhythm that pulsated around us. It wasn’t difficult, I could feel it in my chest and - it was a struggle to hear anything else in the room outside of the music that drove us on.

As I danced, I tried to root out my anxiety, to convince myself that I wasn’t doing anything to be ashamed of, everyone else on the floor was moving similarly enough. Well, not everyone - most of them were grinding on their partners - but I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t be doing any of _that_ dancing. No thank you. After a little longer, Christina gave me a thumbs up and shouted to me that I’d most definitely gotten the hang of it.

I still felt slow, and out of place compared to everyone else around me, but it was a nice comfort to know that my body kept with the momentum and moved without her pulling my strings. I couldn’t tell you how long we danced, but I could feel beads of sweat across my brow and along the back of my neck, and it was difficult to breathe, so I peeled myself out of the crowd. Sluggishly, I made my way up to the bar, where my double stared at me through a thin pane of glass; the air was colder there, much to my relief.

We were identical and yet nothing alike, my double and I; we shared the same grey-blue eyes and long blond hair, she wore the same outfit that Christina had picked out for me earlier that day, but that was where the similarities stopped. I could never glow the way the other version of myself in the mirror was, nearly vibrating with energy. She looked like she belonged there - I could never be her. My focus was torn away from the bar, and my alter ego, when I felt a clumsy arm drape over my shoulders, causing me to turn and find the source.

Christina. Of course. I smiled even wider, if that was possible, and slung my arm around her so that we stood hip to hip, giggling like a pair of school girls. At what, I couldn’t tell you, but it was fun. The bartender was polite, but declined to sell us any more alcohol - I couldn’t exactly blame him for that - so we turned and very, very carefully made our way back down the steps and onto the dance floor.

Somehow Christina managed to convince me to dance with her for a while longer, before my head began to clear a little, and my self-consciousness got the better of me. I leaned into her, yelling against the music, “Weren’t we hanging out with Will and Al?” To which her eyes widened guiltily and she nodded. That had been easier than I could have hoped. By the time we managed to make it back to the booth, both of them were sitting with amused expressions at the sight of us.

I got the feeling we’d broken up a conversation I didn’t care to hear. Al smiled at me with upraised brows, and I found myself giggling at the sight of his face. It was bright red. Had it always been that way? He looked silly. Will was talking about work out regiments for us, which was not at all what I wanted to hear right then. I wanted to pretend that I wouldn’t be spending the next few weeks of freedom working myself to the bone in preparation for the academy.

The talking continued, it sounded like there was a heated debate going on, but it was like I had cotton in my ears. All I could do was stare at the colored lights on the walls and, if I squinted just right, I could see what The Pit looked like without all the club atmosphere and the things that my brain told me didn’t belong there. It was rustic and filled with laughter and shouting and danger, but the fun kind. I shook my head and blinked a few times, surprised at the image and how real it felt. Just like that, everything went back to normal, and I could hear again. What I heard took my mood from pleasant and bubbly to livid in a matter of minutes. Or at least, I was pretty sure it was minutes. Time wasn’t easy to follow in the current state I’d drank myself into.

“So Peter’s been in a good mood for a change, what’s the big deal with that? Isn’t that a _good_ thing?” I heard Al ask, and scrunched up my face, glancing their way in time to see Will shoot me a worried look. Great. His brows pinched together and the crease between them grew momentarily - it almost felt like he hadn’t wanted me to hear that.

“Yeah no, absolutely not. If I've learned anything at all from being roomed with that asshole is it's never good if he's happy. He was strutting around earlier like he’d been named chief of fucking police - I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be anything pleasant.”

“I _hate_ him,” Was all I could manage to say. It felt like I had cotton in my mouth and in my brain at that point, so I couldn’t really do much for the conversation, but they all looked at me with half hearted smiles that I hated, too. How dare they pity me. “I hit him, yaknow, real hard, and he got _mad_ ,” I felt myself blurting out without meaning to. No, I thought desperately, they didn’t need to know about last night. They would pity me - they wouldn’t understand that I had stood my ground, defended myself.

I wasn’t weak. I could feel all three of them glance down at my wrist, at the light ring of bruises he’d left there, so I covered it self consciously. Any bubbly happiness I’d felt before was gone, no trace to be found. Suddenly, my head was pounding and my mouth tasted bad; my stomach hurt and I was angry. Leave it to Peter to ruin a good thing without even stepping foot into the room. At least I’d been reminded as to why I’d been drinking so much in the first place.

“Tris are you..alright?” Christina asked, her brows knitted together, but I rolled my eyes and waved her off, sitting up a little straighter with as convincing of a smirk as I could manage. I just conjured up the image of Peter buckled over after my fist had collided with his stomach. That did the trick.

“Absolutely wonderful.”

Somewhere between the start of the topic and my sudden spell of rage, Will slipped from the table and returned with a round of shots. Normally I would have declined, but tonight I was the first to grab a shot glass. They started up talking about the academy again, trying to make light humor, but my full focus was on the dark brown liquid in my glass. I couldn’t get the image of narrowed green eyes and that ridiculous smirk out of my head. _“You should apologize, while I’m feeling particularly forgiving.”_

I found myself wishing that I’d hit him in the face. Christina’s tinkling laughter caught my attention and I glanced over in time to see her glass raised as she looked to me with concern in her eyes. I opted to stare at the wall behind her head, rather than risk her seeing into my soul and seeing the truth. I didn’t want to explain myself. She’d question me, I knew she would, but right then I didn’t want to think about anything at all.

“To freedom,” I was surprised at my voice, at it being loud enough to cut through their chatter about which was more important for running, endurance or speed, but the others seemed to like that, so they chimed in and repeated the phrase back to me. One shot turned into three, and what little bit of sobriety I’d gotten back since dancing, had been swept away in a fog of foul tasting liquor and laughter. At some point I got up from the booth and went for a walk, though I couldn’t remember doing so.

During the walk I’d fished my phone from my pocket, angrily convinced that I’d give Peter a piece of my mind. It sounded like an absolutely wonderful idea as I pressed the small plastic block to my cheek, and listened to it ring on and on. I almost thought he might not answer - maybe that would have been for the best. About the time I planned to end the call, though, I heard him pick up. I could just hear the rustling of fabric and a tired groan. I’d woken him up - good. Just-woken-Peter sounded husky, his voice rough and slow, which was something I could have gone my entire life without knowing.

“Jesus Prior, why are you calling me at--” There was a pause and more rustling, maybe he was rolling around to find his alarm clock, and I felt a growing sense of discomfort. Why _was_ I calling him, exactly? Why would I willingly talk to this absolute prick? “At _two-thirty_ in the _morning?_ I get it - you want me, but can’t it wait? I was having the _hottest_ dream-” He paused for a moment and I prepared to jump in, to yell at him, but he started talking again too soon. He sounded pleased with himself suddenly. Damn it. “Hold on. What the hell’s all that noise--wait..are you. Oh my god. Are you drunk dialing me?”

I scowled and leaned against the wall, I’d ducked into an alcove further away from all the noise - it didn’t lead anywhere and I suspected it was more for people to disappear from prying eyes than anything, but I was tired and my head was full of insane dreams of making Peter feel small and insignificant. Of convincing him that I could come and get my things without being bribed. I needed to stay strong and on point and not be distracted by his stupid confidence. Slowly I leaned my head back against the wall and felt the coolness of the rocks there seep into my skull.

“Shut up - tha’s not the point.”

“Holy shit, you _are!”_ He cackled into the line, suddenly sounding far more awake than he had been a few minutes ago. Great. I’d just served to amuse him, to make it look like I was some desperate girl calling him for..what exactly did he assume? I didn’t want to think about it - I could hear lips smacking around the corner and shuddered to think of the couple I was bothering with this phone call. Shit. What was I thinking? I began to pace, pinching the bridge of my nose. Right. I needed to set Peter straight. I didn’t like him, I didn’t _want_ him - I hated him more than anything else. I could do this.

“Shut _up._ Y’know what, Peter--Y-you’re an asshole, ugh! What’s your fucking _problem?_ ”

Things got a little foggy after that.

* * *

 My walk up into the ring was slow, nervous - I shot a glance over my shoulder at the cloud of fog that hid the man who had doomed me. He’d sent me up here because he was angry at something - at me, I thought - but I didn’t know why or what for. I really didn’t even know what made me so sure that I was doomed just by walking onto the hard mat, but I knew it was true. Before I could really respond, pain blossomed in my head and I was suddenly aware of a blur much taller than myself across the ring.

Something in me knew the size wouldn’t hinder them. They’re large, but fast, tall, but lean - they’re dangerous. They’re my opponent. I didn’t have time for any other thoughts before the blur jabbed at me again. On pure instinct I ducked, and threw my fist forward - it landed solidly, and the mass of blurry shades of black took a few steps away from me to recover. I was aware of pain in my hand and in my head, a constant, pulsing being reminding me of the danger that I was in. It pulsated in my ears like music.

The blur - no, the man, I corrected myself - the _man_ across from me jabbed out again, striking me with his foot - the pain in my ribs was like fire and I cried out. He easily struck again and knocked me to the mat. I didn’t stay there long, though, something told me if I did, this would be all over; I had to stay up. On my feet. So I tried to attack him again, tried to even the playing field, but my head was buzzing with pain, and there was sweat in my eyes. It was hard to breathe, each intake brought with it a stabbing pain. My opponent attacked again, spiraling me backwards and shoving my face into the mat with seemingly no effort at all on his part.

 _He’ll kick me_ , I thought desperately, _he’ll kick me, and I’ll be done for._ I shakily rose to my feet once again, but only just, and tried to go on the offensive. My blows were parried easily, and instead I was met with a hard jab to my torso that left me buckled over. He took the opportunity to sweep my feet from beneath me and pain ripped through me like I’d never experienced before. _Peter_.

I’m not sure why I thought of him as the edges of my vision turned to black, but the ball of shadows towering over me could be his size. Could be him. I could almost hear him laughing, cackling in his victory over me - taunting my every flinch and yelp. He kicked at me, hard, like I’d feared, in my ribs and stomach, and the pain was all I knew.

I tasted blood, then everything went black.

* * *

 Before even fully waking, I was aware of my feet on the cold tile, of my legs carrying me out of my room into the hall. My shoulder slammed roughly into the closest wall after a few seconds of suspended movement, so I opted to use it for support. My knees felt like gelatin, my tongue like sandpaper - and don’t even get me started on my head.

I barely made it to our small bathroom in time, immediately crumpling to the floor where I proceeded to empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl. One arm was wrapped around it for support while the other looped back to hold my hair from my face - I had done this as the supporting friend for Christina before, but rarely had I been in this condition myself.

It was just as bad as I remembered it being the last time I’d found myself like this, when I’d tried hard alcohol back in our sophomore year and hadn’t eaten properly. Even as my body was racked with convulsions and I was gagging on my mistakes from the night before, the dream I’d just had was still crisp and clear in my mind. It was all I could focus on through the affair - which was somehow worse.

There were jolts of fresh pain shooting through my skull after a solid five minutes, but I’d finally stopped puking, so that was a small victory. Trembling, with tears on my cheeks, I spat into the toilet one last time before forcing myself to my knees and flushing my shame away. I began to run water in the sink without glancing up into the mirror once, feeling weak and thin. I made due with mouth wash in lieu of my perfectly good toothbrush, still locked up in Peter’s room I’d bet.

Memories from last night were less real to me than the feeling of being kicked in the ribs, of dark green eyes, nearly black, burning through me with pure rage. I was startled out of my reverie by that image - as far as I could remember from the dream, I’d been fighting a shadow of a person - how could I have possibly known their eye color? Almost without meaning to, my brain settled on the most logical answer; that I was filling in the blanks my dream left behind with the fresh fight I’d had with Peter in his and Will’s apartment.

That was the only explanation that made any sense, as I was absolutely positive I’d never had a real, physical fight like that one - no holds barred. Especially not with him. Absentmindedly, I rubbed at my ribs. There were no bruises but I felt internal pain, like my brain was convinced I’d taken an actual beating. I noticed with a small burn of satisfaction that the ring of purple around my wrist wasn’t nearly as severe this morning. Small victories.

Once my mouth was washed clean and my hands were dry, I stumbled back into my bedroom and three things were brought to my immediate attention. One: I was still wearing the clothes Christina had picked out for me last night, they were crumpled and twisted, reeking of sweat and alcohol; Two: My phone was lying on the floor near my comforter, which meant I must have slept with it; and Three: Said device was blinking at me with unread notifications. I scowled at it, considering stomping on the small piece of machinery to get out of dealing with it - instead, I settled for walking around the irritating thing, like it was a crime scene.

I fished out a pair of underwear, soft sweatpants and a tank top from my dresser, and went right back out into the hall. Surely Christina wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her soap and shampoo just once. A hot shower, I was sure, would clear my head and ease the throbbing pain in the back of my skull. Part of me wanted to write down the dream that still floated behind my eyes each time they closed, but I didn’t. It was still too raw, and besides, it wasn’t like I had my dream journal anyway.

Half an hour later, I was clean, comfortable and had forced myself to eat a meager meal of scrambled eggs between two pieces of toast. That had been a definite upside of our study circles - it gave Christina and I an excuse to go shopping for much needed groceries. My temples were still throbbing, and it felt like I’d swallowed acid, but I felt marginally better than I had upon waking up, so it was an improvement.

My phone was resting by my head, still blinking; I hadn’t unlocked it yet. My chances of finding a message from Christina were just as likely as it being another series of irritating taunts from Peter, but I had an anxious feeling in my gut that told me it was bad regardless. I’d been wracking my brain for what happened last night - but the images faded in and out - my last solid memory was of wanting to go for a walk, but after that..nothing.

It raised questions on how I got home, but I couldn’t seem to remember more than fuzzy snippets of loud music and faces I couldn’t quite bring into focus. I had the distinct memory of arguing with someone, but I couldn’t imagine who that would have been - or why. I groaned in frustration, then, giving in despite wanting to put this off for as long as possible, and unlocked my phone. The dread was worse than the act, I told myself, it was like a band-aid. I just needed to rip it off already. My eyes were squinted at the screen, hoping against hope that I’d just have some message letting me know Christina was okay. I sighed in irritation at what I found. Of course it was Peter. With my luck lately, what else could I have expected?

[3:13AM] Peter Hayes: Thanks for the entertainment that was worth waking up for ;)

[10:38AM] Peter Hayes: I bet you’ve got a hangover from hell. Better recover before our date.

[10:55AM] Peter Hayes: Don’t forget, I’ll be there at 5:30. Remember to dress up, it’s a requirement - and no backing out just because you drank too much last night.

I scowled at the texts, torn between confusion and anger. What _entertainment_ was he talking about? I vaguely recalled Christina convincing me to dance, and it wasn’t exactly crazy to assume that Peter had been at The Pit last night, but if he had been why hadn’t I seen him? I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t take the opportunity to hold our arrangement over my head just to piss me off - especially in front of my friends. So if that wasn’t it, then what was it? Why was he texting me at three in the morning, anyway?

Even more importantly than that, how had he known I was trashed without being there to see it? That wasn’t something I did regularly, maybe a total of five or six times in my whole four years of college, so it wasn’t something that could be left up to assumptions based on me telling him I had plans. I had to guess that either Molly or Drew had been there last night, I’d been far too out of it to even think of looking for them in the haze of alcohol. I could feel the rage burning in my stomach, and considered calling him, but I got the feeling that his voice wouldn’t do my hangover any favors.

[12:30PM] Me: _What entertainment?? Why were you texting me at 3 in the morning?_

I sent Christina a text, too, asking her where she was and what happened last night - I could only hope she’d crashed at Will’s apartment, since her bedroom door was wide open and the room was empty when I passed it earlier. Peter’s response was almost immediate, which only irritated me further, had he been waiting around for me to reply all this time? I wouldn’t put it past him. I imagined that, in his downtime, he plotted the destruction and humiliation of people like me. It wasn’t like he had much better to do, that I knew of, since that seemed to be what he derived pleasure from.

[12:31AM] Peter Hayes: Oh wow you so don’t get to ask that after YOU called and woke ME up from an amazing dream last night. How’s that hangover by the way? ;)

I sucked in a breath through my teeth and rapidly checked my call log - he was just messing with me, right? What reason could I possibly have had for calling him? My stomach tightened as I read the screen, he was right, I _did_ have an outgoing call to his number, time stamped at 2:30 AM. Great. How did I respond to that? Of course I wanted to know what was said, and had half a mind to interrogate him about it, but how could I trust Peter to be honest with me about it? I texted Christina again, this time asking her to come home as quickly as possible. I needed to talk to someone I didn’t hate - especially someone other than Peter, before I lost my mind.

Apparently I’d been silent for too long, because I could suddenly hear my ringtone buzzing and, _of course_ , he was calling me. I scowled, swiping my thumb over the ignore button rather than just letting it ring so that he knew that I’d intentionally snubbed him. I already had to go out on a date with this jerk, there was no way I was enduring his laughter at my expense with the kind of headache I already had.

When I pressed my hands to my face I found the skin there was burning hot, and I wasn’t sure how much of that was anger and how much was shame. I suddenly felt like I might throw up my breakfast. Four texts buzzed against my palm in rapid succession; I glanced down at the device with the hope it was Christina and not Peter. At least I got half of my wish. Or..a third, really.

[12:38AM] Christina: Loooong story be home soon :) :) ps wow can u dance white girl!

[12:38AM] Al: hey just wanted to see if you were feeling ok after last night hope you slept ok

[12:39AM] Peter Hayes: It’s rude to ignore people, you know, shame on you.

[12:39AM] Peter Hayes: I’ll forgive you just this once. I like you better when you’re drunk, by the way.

Peter’s text made me consider cancelling our..date, I shuddered at the thought of enduring him, but it made me angrier to accept defeat from him than it did to consider tolerating him in public for a few hours. I quickly texted a ‘just fine, thanks’ to Al and threw my phone down on the bed without another glance. After a few seconds of sitting there wallowing in my frustration, I threw my covers back and started to pace, wringing my hands in frustration.

I couldn’t handle any more texts or revelations or much of anything at all at that point so I stormed out of my room all together, forgetting about the stupid device. I focused my efforts on brewing a fresh pot of coffee while waiting for Christina to get in.Somehow that turned into laying back on the couch and resting my eyes to ease the pain throbbing behind them.

That quickly devolved into full out sleeping again.

As soon as I drifted off the darkness behind my lids faded until I was in a training room - the one that frequented my dreams. It was clearer than before, no fog in sight, but there weren’t any people in the room, at least, none that I could see from my current position. I was aware of my bare feet sticking to the mat and a nervous, cold perspiration on my brow. I could smell sweat and blood, and suddenly, I heard a voice taunting me -  a voice I knew so well I didn’t even have to turn around to know exactly who it belonged to. My confusion immediately boiled away to hatred.

“You okay, Stiff?” I turned to face him then, not surprised by the slur I didn’t understand on his lips - Peter stood across from me, already in a defensive pose with a sneer on his lips. He looked different, younger maybe, harder. More dangerous. His eyes were almost black, pupils blown out to claim the usual green I’d come to know, his flesh was covered in a light sheen of sweat and his hair was less shaggy, it coiled around his face neatly, each curl tightly in place. I knew how this would end, but it didn’t make me any less angry about it as he spoke up again - somehow I was throbbing with pain, had the fight already started? Had he already struck me?

“I might go easy on you if you cry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. So much more interaction with Peter and Tris on a less violent, angry level will be coming up in the next chapter. I'm super excited with how this is coming along! Thank you as always to those of you who have left reviews and kudos, they're always super encouraging! If you have suggestions or even suspicions of what's to come, feel free to leave them in the comments, I'd love to hear about them!
> 
> Also, I'd like to know if anyone wants a small oneshot featuring the full conversation Tris and Peter have (featuring more information about that dream of his ;D) because I've been considering doing it, the details of their call don't fit well into the flow of this story, so I won't be including it in the actual chapters.
> 
> I'll see you lovelies next week! >D


	5. Sangfroid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sangfroid  
> (n) composure or coolness shown under trying circumstances

When Christina finally made it home, her entry was loud enough to wake me - which I was grateful for. I’d broken into a cold sweat and my hands were shaking at the powerful memory of my recurring dream. I couldn’t stop seeing Peter bearing down on me, his fists bringing blood bubbling to the surface of my face. At first I thought it was vivid enough that I was still tasting remnants of the coppery liquid from the sleeping world I’d left, but when my teeth brushed the edge of my tongue I found it raw and sore - I’d bitten it in my sleep. Ouch.

My focus shifted from the phantom -and actual- pain I was experiencing, to my best friend standing in the doorway to remove her jacket. Her hair was a mess, her skin paler than usual and she looked like she knew exactly how I felt in the hangover department, but that didn’t stop her from grinning - so that had to be a good sign. I forced myself up from the couch, rubbing the injured area on my tongue against my gums at varying pressures to test how painful it was. The answer was very.

Once I was able to get a good look at her, I noted that she was still wearing the same clothes she’d been in last night, though hers looked far less crumpled than mine had been. I raised my brows at her in accusation and she shot me a look that was far less effective than it normally might have been due to the fact that she almost immediately broke into giggles. Christina was _blushing._ Guess that had to do with the long story. Her distraction was exactly what I needed so I pulled on my best attempt at a chastising, authoritative face and crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot impatiently for added effect.

“And just where have _you_ been all night, young lady?” She laughed and cupped her hands over her face, so I counted that as a victory.

“Give me like, twenty minutes to get cleaned up and changed, and we’ll talk, okay?”

It wasn’t what I wanted to hear - I wanted to talk to her, to have her comfort me and tell me that I had every right to not go out with Peter tonight. That I didn’t need to prove he had power over me by following his demands, mysterious dreams weren’t worth that. Instead of complaining, I let her pass with a nod and a sigh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and fetching a glass of water. I needed to wash the strong taste of copper out of my mouth - maybe then I’d stop getting those flashes of an imaginary fight blaring at me from behind my eyelids.

It helped a little. With that taken care of, I retired to the couch again, stretching out as large as I could to take up as much space as possible. It wasn’t as nice as a bed, but there was no way I was returning to my room _or_ my phone just yet. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone but Christina right at that moment.

Our apartment was filled with the sound of water hitting the shower floor and music, some of which I recognized as songs played at The Pit. It made me feel a little less terrible. I rested my hands on my stomach, fingers locked, and thought over how I was going to start this. I’d planned the speech in my head a couple dozen different ways, but they all ended with me sounding like a weak little girl who needed protecting. Like big bad Peter was getting the best of me. I didn’t want her to think that I couldn’t fight my own battles - I could.

That was the problem - I needed to know what to do when fighting my way out wasn’t an option. I knew that no matter how I explained it to her, she would either disapprove entirely of the blackmail and try to talk me out of it, or get the wrong idea about all of this and think it was some weird, twisted dating ritual between the pair of us - which absolutely was not the kind of impression I wanted to give her.

So I stayed like that for what felt like hours, but in reality was probably half an hour at most, and played out the possible conversations in my head. None of them ended very well, but it was the best that I had to work with to keep my anxiety at bay. The room fell silent in two waves, the first being that the water stopped, and then a few minutes later, the music followed suit. Eventually she reappeared from down the hall in clean, fresh clothes, though she hadn’t gone for the slouchy stay in bed all day approach that I had. It looked more like she was planning to go out again, which wouldn’t surprise me, but it made my heart sink - here I thought I’d get to spend some time with her. She laughed quietly, I could only assume at the fact that I looked back up to the ceiling and scowled after glancing her way to acknowledge her presence, and sat on the arm of the sofa by my feet.

With her hair wet and out of her face and a new shirt that didn’t have a collar, I noticed that she had a hickey just under her jaw, and smirked at her. That warranted another light blush from my best friend, who smiled and looked away. I could only hope that it came from Will - I couldn’t handle the idea of the pair of them fighting like they always did when she chose to flirt with a stranger. There was already enough bad in my life, I didn’t need my friends arguing and making everyone around them miserable in the mix as well.

“You’ll never guess what happened last night,” She hummed, positively glowing with happiness and I couldn’t help but feel a little more upbeat, too. She had a way of making her emotions contagious, or at least, of making you want to feel as happy as she did. I grinned, and some of the tension in my gut receded. The question was rhetorical, I knew, but she didn’t even give me time to come up with a clever retort before she grabbed my ankle to give it a slight squeeze, shaking it eagerly in the process. “Will kissed me!”

On instinct I gasped as though this prospect was entirely unheard of - like I hadn’t known for months that this had to eventually happen. Maybe a little of it was genuine, but not surprise so much as relief; I shifted and sat upright so she could sit next to me. It may have been sheer procrastination, or maybe the desire to hear something _good_ for a change, but I was glad to talk about her. It was better than the alternative.

“What? How did that happen?” I was absolutely thrilled to hear that they were moving forward, it was about damn time. Even I couldn’t stop myself from adding on a quip, though, grinning at her devilishly. “I’m guessing that’s where you were last night,” She had the decency to blush and look away, but nodded all the same.

“Well, I mean, we were just sort of walking together after you and Al pulled a disappearing act on us,” At that she raised her brows, and looked at me with suspicion, but I shrugged and shook my head - I was interested to know about that, now, too, but it would have to wait -, so she kept talking, “And you know we normally stop right on the street before our apartment, and he goes his way and we go ours? Well, I dunno, he just kinda leaned down and kissed me and..holy shit, Tris. He’s such a good kisser..” She blurted without an ounce of shame, so I blushed for her.

“So you just..went back to his place and..?” I trailed off, my face burning. This wasn’t the type of subject we normally talked about - she was kind enough to spare me the details in the few cases that had ended with her in someone’s bed, but I felt it was my duty to let her talk this time. I couldn’t be a blushing mess forever when it came to the topic of sex. I needed to be able to talk about this - what would happen if I ever found the person I felt strongly enough with to do those sorts of things? I didn’t want to be ignorant about it. She bit her lip and shrugged, I could tell she was trying to pick her words carefully.

“Well, yeah I  mean we didn’t _do_ anything-- don’t look at me like that, we didn’t! We just sat on his couch and talked, like normal, and it was so nice. He held my hands, and we kissed here and there, but mostly it was just talking and I swear I planned to come home, but we fell asleep like that.”

Even I had to admit the scene she painted was a sweet one - I was a little envious, but not enough to let it wipe the wide smile off of my face as I finally asked her the question I’d been itching to, ever since they started really flirting. “So are you officially together now, or what?”

She ducked her face into her hands and giggled -it was a nervous, happy sound that made me feel a little optimistic about my own problems- before nodding vigorously. “Yeah! We’re actually going on our first real date tonight,” My stomach dropped. The look on my face must have alarmed her, because her smile wavered a little, and her brows knitted together in concern. As much as I wanted to run away from my issues, I knew I needed to talk to her about them before they drove me insane.

“I almost forgot! You seemed like you were upset in your text earlier and last night..you said you got into a _fight_ with Peter, like an actual physical fight? What’s going on, Tris?” Shit. I’d hoped she would have forgotten about that - but her eyes were on my wrist and she didn’t look like she’d be dropping this.

If that wasn’t the best opportunity to present the problem at hand to her, I didn’t know what was. I tore my eyes from her face, then, staring at my hands in my lap; my nails were bitten down to the beds and the bruises Peter left me were still fairly dark. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get the words out. When her darker hand covered mine I flinched, and looked up at her; all the giddiness from before was gone, replaced with deep set worry for me. I felt guilty for taking the attention away from her good night. For wiping the smile off of her face.

I couldn’t lie to her, or brush it off and pretend it was nothing. Even if I wanted to, she’d know, and I needed her help anyway, if I wanted to pull this off without killing someone or going insane. With a heavy sigh, I straightened my shoulders and looked up at her, piecing the words together in my head like I’d been doing before she came in. Ultimately, I settled on starting at the beginning. She knew a little bit about how Peter had been treating me, Molly and Drew as well, but I’d kept a lot of it to myself for fear of sounding like I needed protection. Her face shifted from concern to rage more than once as I spoke, explaining how they’d spent the last few weeks making my life hell at every opportunity.

I looked away again when I got to the main point, of how Peter tricked me with the whiteboard, how I left my bag in his room, the texts, and his bribe. I could hear her gritting her teeth from beside me. The words poured from my mouth with no end in sight, and I realized, finally, how desperate I’d really been to talk to someone about all of this madness. It felt so much better to get the words out in the open, to admit that I’d been struggling alone for weeks, just because I had been too proud to ask for help. I was asking now.

By the time I finished, and was brave enough to look at her again, I didn’t find pity in her expression, which was a relief. I found anger. Her mouth was puckered into a sour expression, and I was a little concerned that she might have gone and attacked Peter on my behalf right then and there. In typical Christina fashion, she blurted the first thought that came into her head, looking at me with wide eyes. I expected a lot of things, speeches about not coming to her sooner, about how I needed to report him or ignore him, but what came out of her mouth was nothing close to what I’d anticipated. I had no argument for it.

“I think you should do it. Dress up, look absolutely flawless, and show that piece of shit what he’ll never have,” My mouth curled downwards into a frown once the shock of her words wore off a little, I didn’t want Peter to see me as _flawless_ , I wanted to be seen as fearless. Unbreakable. I wanted him to leave me alone. If she noticed my discomfort, she didn’t say anything about it. “Maybe Will and I could follow you guys, go to the same place - as backup. In case you need some help?”

The idea was mortifying, to not only go on my first date with someone as unpleasant as Peter Hayes, but in view of two of my best friends? Not to mention, if he saw them, it would be just one more reason for him to think that I was weak - that I needed saving. I couldn’t tell her that, though, she’d take it the wrong way, and I was already guilty of not telling her my problems sooner. I could easily imagine if I said I didn’t need her, she’d assume I thought I was too good to ask for assistance - I didn’t want her to form that kind of opinion about me. She was just trying to help, I told myself, taking a deep breath. I don’t know what possessed me to start talking again, but I diverted the topic of the date altogether.

“Apparently I drunk dialed him last night.” I admitted, embarrassed, and stared into my lap again. She laughed, which made me feel a little better, but I still couldn’t look at her.

“So that’s where you disappeared to, I thought you’d just gotten sick or something.”

“Jeez, and you didn’t come looking for me?” I didn’t mind that she’d left me to my own devices, from what I could remember, she wasn’t in the best condition to be looking after anyone - we both probably would have ended up yelling at him over the phone at three in the morning. Maybe that would have been good, but I doubted it. I tried to think back to that point, to the call, when I’d taken it, where I’d _gone_ , but I hit the gap and frowned hard.

There was just a vast wall of nothing where memories should have been. Damn it. The fact that there was a black hole where parts of the night should have been was terrifying, it reminded me of my dreams and how they fade in and out at will, leaving me with foggy snippets. To distract myself I started talking again.. “What happened, anyway, after we started taking shots?”

“Not a whole lot, you were way more drunk than the rest of us--” I shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes, continuing in a sheepish tone, “Okay, maybe only a little more drunk than I was, but it’s still rare to see you let loose. Anyway, you stormed off in a fit after the like..I dunno, fifth round? And you were gone for half an hour or so -  Al got worried and went off to look for you, I would have but I was pretty messed up by that point.

Neither of you came back - but you’re here so I’d say he got you home safely. Does _Al_ know you’ve got a big date with the devil tonight?” Al! I’d completely forgotten her saying he’d taken me home. Maybe he could tell me something about my lost memories? I wondered briefly if he heard any of my conversation with Peter, I needed a credible source to tell me what happened. The revelation was enough to make me less annoyed at the way she kept hinting that Al and I were anything but friends. I glanced at the clock and frowned - I had time to call him, but that meant I’d need to force myself to talk to someone besides Christina. I glanced back at her and shook my head firmly.

“Okay first off, none of that suggestive weirdness you’re doing right now. I woke up on top of my sheets in my clothes - nothing happened. Thank God. Secondly, I need to go call Al and see if he can tell me anything..and..thirdly,” I couldn’t keep the sound of defeat out of my tone. I didn’t want her to be right, I wanted to show up just barely passing as formal for our date - but..well, she _was_ right. It would feel good to flaunt in his face that I was capable of looking at least better than normal, that I wasn’t some plain, unattractive _child._  I didn’t want him to look at me like that, I definitely didn’t want to run the risk of him being attracted to me, but the memory of how he talked to me in his apartment washed away my fear. I’d prove him wrong. “I’m in need of your dark services..”

“Oh you so are,”

What was I getting myself into?

* * *

 

“Yes, Al, for the tenth time, I’m fine - just, look. I called to ask about last night, when you came to find me,” I’d hardly gotten in a word edgewise since I’d dialed his number nearly three minutes ago. He’d been convinced I had alcohol poisoning or gotten sick or something - I didn’t tell him that he was right about the second one. He didn’t need to know that. Al grew quiet at my words, even from my end I could almost feel how uncomfortable he was as he stammered.

“Which part..exactly?” That made me slightly uncomfortable, too. So now we were both suffering. Great.

“Uh, I mean, all of it would be nice. My memory sorta stops at the shots.” That got a laugh out of him.

“Oh, well.. I mean, it was a while before we all got worried - I thought you’d gone to the bathroom or to get some fresh air so I didn’t want to bother you..since you’d told me you didn’t need company,” He sounded slightly offended - I tried to find it within me to feel guilty but I didn’t, chances were I’d have told him the same thing sober. When I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, he continued, “So I guess it was probably like twenty minutes or something when Chris finally brought up you being gone and I thought..I don’t know, really. I just was the most sober out of all of us so I went looking and found you out in the..er,” He went quiet again, much to my frustration.

“Out in the..what?” My patience was wearing thin. He was treating me like I was made of glass, like if he didn’t pick the exact right words I would crumble and shatter on the ground and it would be entirely his fault. I was having a difficult time being the nice friend I was supposed to be when all I wanted were answers.

“Well, the..the private alcove, out in the tunnels by that big river where people usually want to be..er, _alone_.” He coughed and I felt my face burn - surely he hadn’t found me _alone_ with someone. That would be something I knew I’d remember, wouldn’t it? He seemed to realize what his words were hinting at and groaned, “I mean, not, not that you were wanting that kind of alone, just that..well, that was where you were. On the phone. I don’t really think you even noticed me? I mean, you were pretty wrapped up in that call.”

Was that jealousy? I could have laughed, considering blurting out how he had nothing to worry about, that it was just Peter, but I wanted him to feel worried. To feel like I was talking to other people - because I was tired of him being satisfied when I was a good girl who kept to myself. Of him talking like we were dating when we were absolutely nothing more than friends. So I didn’t correct him.

“Did you catch anything about the call - what I was saying?” I didn’t condone the idea of him eavesdropping on possibly private conversations, but just this once, I decided it was better if he’d heard it and could give me some information than if he were a proper gentleman who waited until it was over to barge in. This was a damn nightmare. He was silent for a long minute and I wondered if he’d been distracted by something, he’d been going for a walk when I called, maybe he found something more interesting than our conversation in his travels. I doubted that, though, it was more like he didn’t want to answer me. “Earth to Al, you there?”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. I’m here.” He answered lamely, not apologizing or giving an excuse, just clearing his throat and steamrolling on, “Well..there wasn’t a lot of..talking on your end - it was more like you were really focused on what the person had to say. You just kinda stood there with your eyes closed.” Something about that made me wish I hadn’t asked, I was sure he would have had something more useful to tell me - at least something I’d said, but apparently not, “I mean, I dunno, you seemed pretty embarrassed when I walked up, you hung up when I said your name.”

“I was arguing with Peter, so that’s not a surprise,”

“Oh. Well, okay..Anyway, after you hung up you were pretty quiet, you wouldn’t say why, just that you wanted to go home - and you wouldn’t really look at me, either. When we got back to the booth Chris and Will were gone so I figured I could at least walk you back to your apartment, and you basically crashed as soon as I got you to your room so I left. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Jesus. Al. Yes. I’m fine - thank you for helping me home last night, I’ve uh..I need to go, I’ve got a thing to go to, but..thanks for the help,” Except that he hadn’t really been any help at all. I had nothing to defend my drunken self with, no snippets of conversation to disprove whatever lies he would be bent on convincing me of tonight. Great.

“..Alright, I’ll see you around then, yeah?”

“..Yeah, sure thing.”

I slammed my phone down on my bed and groaned in frustration, storming out of my room to go deal with the next unpleasant process of the night. My makeover. I’d asked for it so of course I couldn’t exactly complain when Christina sprang from her chair with a wide eager smile on her face at my arrival. She’d probably been eagerly awaiting a day like this where I willingly subjected myself to her skills, though I found myself wishing it were under different circumstances. It was easy to picture a better scenario - one where I was nervous because I didn’t want to screw up, not because I was afraid the guy would publicly humiliate me - and felt sad for the hopeful girl in me that had looked forward to a real date. Peter plucked those dreams from me with his stupid blackmail. Was there anything he couldn’t ruin?

“Any luck with Al?”

I groaned and leaned in her doorway with a shake of my head. He’d been absolutely _no_ help - I shouldn’t have even wasted my time calling him, if I’d known the results would have been so irritating. “No, he sounded pretty jealous, though. Which is super annoying.”

“Well, the boy likes you, what do you expect him to do?” I scowled and crossed my arms over my chest, which seemed to be an answer enough for her. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not your type..do you even have one? Nevermind. Not the point - this,” She turned and pointed to her bed with a laugh, “Is the point! Let’s get started.”

“Yipee..”

There was a line of outfits on her bed waiting for me, and my eyes widened at our options. Was she serious? There were dresses here that were far fancier than anything I’d ever had grace my closet before, not a single outfit had pants but, then, this wasn’t a casual date - at least, that’s what Peter had said. For a moment I imagined getting dressed up, only to have him take us to a run down diner or something, to embarrass me with my unnecessarily over the top outfit, and scowled. Surely he’d want to go somewhere nice, to accost my wallet at the very least.

Christina had me try on various slips of cloth, some were shimmery, others laced and embroidered, and a couple were flat toned and simple. I liked them best, but she kept pushing them to the side in favor of others. Every time I changed in her closet and came out she whooped and twirled her finger around a few times, telling me I needed to show it off from each side for her to get a good idea of what looked the best.

I got the feeling that most of this was just her milking the opportunity to play dress up with me, but I let her enjoy it, she _was_ helping me, after all. Once we’d settled on three dresses to pick from -”We can’t know for sure until I do your makeup, it’ll have to wait!”- it was her turn. Christina definitely had a lot more fun with the whole ordeal than I did, pretending to be a model and strutting around her room - I found myself envying her, imagining what it would be like to walk with the kind of confidence she had. She was gorgeous, and she knew it, and she wore it like armor.

* * *

 

When Chris finished with me, I was shocked. I’d never worn lipstick before - it felt waxy and odd - but it stood out against my pale skin in a shocking shade of red. Apparently that was a good thing, according to her, I thought it made me look a little spooky, but after adding in blush and the other components I began to see what she meant. It was striking. Instead of the usual thin streak of eyeliner I’d come to expect, she’d drawn thick wings in black and dusted my lids with a silver powder.

Because of her handiwork, my eyes were a vibrant shade of blue, I had no recent memory of ever seeing them as bright as they were then. If I weren’t so bad at it, she might have convinced me then and there to start wearing makeup more often. My features were softened by concealer, and my cheeks were painted with a soft red that, for once, wasn’t from shame or anger, which was a nice change of pace. Looking at myself through the mirror was easy with all of the work Christina had done to me - it was like peering through a window, into a stranger’s face. I didn’t even cringe at the reflective surface as I stared openly. She’d given me a mask, a strong one that made me feel more confident than I expected. She’d given me a little piece of her armor.

Apparently we’d made some kind of a silent agreement that black was my color, because I was covered in it with varying accents of silver. My hair was pulled back and braided loosely with a black ribbon threaded through the knots. The necklace that rested on my collarbone was a mixture of black and silver stones that looked like rain in stasis, it complimented the flock of birds I had tattooed there. Everything she’d done paired together well - thankfully my ears weren’t pierced, so I didn’t have to deal with her making me try on various sets the way I’d seen her do for herself on several occasions.

With the makeup out of the way, we were back in her room, where she’d had me try on all three dresses again. The first had been bright red like the lipstick she’d chosen, and I’d barely stepped out of the closet before she was shaking her head and sending me in with a lacy green one. That had been a relief. She had me twirl a few more times before I changed again, into our last option. I hadn’t wanted it to be this one, but something told me from the start that it would be the outfit she chose. It was just like her to pick the one that I dreaded the most.

The choice in question was a silky black dress that stopped just an inch above my knees - I’d wanted something a little longer, but she’d insisted it was perfect - and it flowed with my movement. I was grateful that she’d spared me wearing any heels, we both knew it would end with me breaking my neck or humiliating myself. So, instead, she had me in a pair of soft black leather flats with open toes, and I felt safer for that, even if it meant that Peter would still have the height advantage. Thinking about that reminded me of the dream, though, so I tried not to.

When I mentioned my discomfort at having so much skin exposed, Christina was kind enough to give me a pair of black nylons. They felt weird against my flesh, but it was better than nothing. It would, at the very least, give me something to keep wiping my sweaty palms on. Now that I was fully dressed and ready for my horrible night, I felt embarrassed and wary. Surely I’d tried a little too hard - Peter was going to think I’d done all this to look good for him, when in reality I’d done it to prove I was capable of looking nice - and that he couldn’t have me. Which, now that I thought about it, was a ridiculous notion - he didn’t _want_ me, nor I him, and that was just the way I wanted to keep things.

I was tempted to go grab a towel from the bathroom and drag away the features of a stranger that Christina had painted on my face. I didn’t, though, instead I balled my hands into fists at my side and went to the living room. Christina needed to get her own makeup ready - I’d almost forgotten that she had a date, too. It was impossible not to feel at least a little bit jealous that she was experiencing the real thing, with someone she cared about, while I was expected to sit out the night with my worst enemy in clothes that left me exposed and incapable of truly defending myself. I’d lost my armor on the night I was expected to go into battle and that was terrifying. I couldn’t wear my confidence the way Chris did. I was defenseless.

At first I tried sitting and reading a book, but after going over the same paragraph seven times, I threw it against the wall in defeat, feeling bad as soon as it flopped to the floor. The book did nothing to deserve my anger. After scooping it up and ensuring I hadn’t broken the spine of it, I put the victim of my rage back on its shelf and began to pace. The clock seemed to be laughing at me from across the room - taunting me, ticking away at the inevitability of it all. In twenty minutes I’d be faced with Peter.

Eighteen.

I sat down again, only to get back up and continue pacing after a few seconds of knee bouncing.

Fourteen.

Chris came into the room and smiled at me, looking radiant - she wore a soft black and white dress that hugged her curves and made her look more like a woman than I could ever have hoped to. Next to her I felt like a kid again. She stepped up and hugged me close, careful not to get her makeup on me or vice-versa, before taking my chin in her hands and forcing me to look her in the eye; her natural height difference was made even worse by the fact that she wore heels. I was truly beginning to hate being overshadowed.

“You’re gonna be fine, okay? Will heard Peter making reservations at this place downtown - we’ll be there before you, we’ll keep an eye out.” That didn’t make me feel better. I scowled and shook my head out of her grip, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll be alright - I can take care of myself, just enjoy your date.” She beamed at me and left. It wasn’t until she was gone that I realized I hadn’t even asked her where we’d be going. My anxiety was back tenfold now that I was entirely alone in the house. I still had ten minutes, I could go call Peter, cancel our twisted sham of a date. Almost a dozen times I paced towards the hall, planning to grab my phone and make the call.

I never made it to my door before the stubborn side of me turned back around. I wasn’t going to let him win and, besides, Christina had worked really hard to dress me up. It would be some kind of an insult to her if I threw all that down the drain because I was _afraid._ I was halfway to my room for the tenth time, telling myself she’d forgive me and that I wasn’t being weak, when I heard a knock at our front door and nearly jumped out of my skin.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Thanks for the continued support and reviews and kudos!


	6. Habromania

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I've been dying to do this chapter since I first came up with this whole story, so here it is~ I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Big shoutout to the lovely folks who've been leaving me so many nice reviews, you're wonderful and make me want to keep writing forever. :)
> 
> \--
> 
> Habromania  
> (n) delusion of happiness

The clock read 5:25 - Peter was early. I was beginning to panic. I still had five minutes of freedom, he couldn’t be early! With a deep breath, I forced myself to stop pacing the floor, closing my eyes as I held the breath in for a few heartbeats before releasing it. _ I am strong _ , I told myself, I wouldn’t let something so small as a date with a guy like him terrify me. No. I would terrify him. I set my shoulders with a newfound determination and stormed back to the living area of our apartment. I had this, I could do it. He knocked again in the time it took me to make it to the door.

My fingers found the handle, only shaking a little, and I wished I’d wiped the sweat from my palms before because it was a lot more difficult to open than I’d expected it to be. Finally I found purchase and jerked the door open, nearly hitting myself with it in the process, to find him standing on the other side with his arm extended as though he intended to knock again. 

All the air whooshed out of me at once at the sight before me. Both of us were silent in that moment, his eyes were round and my mouth was set into a firm line. It was a relief to see that he had dressed up for the occasion as well, so at least he hadn’t been lying about that part of the night. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

To my surprise, he was wearing an honest to goodness suit, in varying shades of black and gray. The coat was a lighter shade - as was his tie and pants, so that they seemed to melt together into the soft material that had a faint shine to it in the light - and beneath that was a pitch black dress shirt, which matched the color of his shoes. 

The only variation in color for his outfit was the green of his eyes and the bright silver clips on each of his wrists. He’d combed his hair, but it was still a mess of curls, I was almost sure that he’d gelled it, but couldn’t be certain. Even when he’d done nothing to it his hair gleamed, regardless of any source of light, not necessarily in a dirty, greasy way; more like..an oil slick, or a crow’s feather.

He looked good. I hated it.

We still hadn’t spoken yet, which was particularly surprising for him, and the silence became uncomfortable as it stretched on between us, seemingly endless. I’d never in my life wanted him to open his mouth, but now I would have been glad for him to say something.  _ Anything _ . 

I was still standing in the doorway with it wide open, and he was still in the hall, staring. His arm had dropped back to his side, so that both of his hands were tucked into his pockets, while he stood ever so slightly stooped. Peter cleared his throat, and I tried to ignore the way his eyes were scanning me from head to toe. Why wouldn’t he just say something already?

In the back of my mind, I knew he was absolutely not admiring me or my outfit; he was structurally searching for weaknesses to exploit, insecurities to poke at. His gaze halted at my collar bone, where the three birds flew, and I realized that this might have possibly been the first time he’d seen them. Standing like that, being gawked at by him, made that whole plan of Christina’s feel even more ridiculous than it had previously.

I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, which seemed to snap him out of his daze, because his mouth turned up at the corners into a smile that was frustratingly less unpleasant than usual. That was more dangerous than any sneer he could have shot me, but I wouldn’t let him lull me into a false sense of security. There was no way I could accept that he was happy with our evening being about my discomfort, or making me spend money on him. No, he had a bigger plan. I knew it.

“Well, who knew you could clean up so well, Beatrice? I’m impressed, though that’s probably more Christina’s hard work than yours. I’ll have to thank her, you look good.” 

I frowned, the word  _ Stiff _ came unbidden to me, and I found myself thinking that he should have called me that instead, but I couldn’t say as to why. My name sounded wrong on his lips - like an insult instead of a title. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms over my chest defiantly, refusing to smile and pretend he’d just complimented me, when in reality his words were anything but kind.

“It’s  _ Tris _ , and..thanks, I guess.” After a pause I relented, partly because he seemed to be waiting for me to reciprocate the “kindness”, but moreso because I was sure that once I did it would make things move along a little faster, “You don’t strike me as a suit guy. It..you look nice.” It was as friendly as I could manage, but the words felt wrong all the same. I should have said  _ handsome _ or  _ okay _ , nice was not a word to describe the man in front of me. No, he didn’t look nice. He looked dangerous. 

He smiled then, holding his arm out as though to escort me - when I didn’t take his offer, he rolled his eyes and stepped out of my doorway. I quickly locked my apartment behind me, and followed him out of the hall and towards the small parking area out front of our building. In the space that was always empty, reserved for our apartment, was a sleek black car; it was one of the nicer ones with solar panels on the roof, and I found myself hating him for owning it.

Christina and I just walked everywhere, mostly because we lived close to everything we needed, but that wasn’t the point. It was just another thing about Peter that accentuated how very different he was from me, another divide that allowed for me to dislike him. I felt a brief wave of guilt for thinking that way, but a glance at his face, and the memory of his smug cruelty was enough to erase that feeling.

Probably because I didn’t take his arm, Peter didn’t open my door for me, or help me into the car, which I was grateful for. It was difficult to maneuver myself into the vehicle in a dress, but I managed to do it without embarrassing myself, to find that the interior was soft and smelled distinctly like him; like his cologne and cigarettes, and vaguely like leather, too. 

It surprised me that I recognized those scents as his specifically, that even without knowing it was his vehicle, I probably could have associated them with him, but more than that, I was shocked to find that I didn’t dislike it - which only served to make me want to hate it more.

“So,” I said, buckling up and trying not to think of it as strapping myself down for a painful procedure, “Where are we going, anyway?” He was still smiling, not looking at me as he started up the car and put it into gear. Not when he glanced over his shoulder, and put his hand on the headrest of my seat to back out of our parking lot. Not when his fingers brushed against the shell of my ear before retreating to the steering wheel. He made it a point, almost, to not answer me. The prick.

Once we were on the road, heading away from my apartment, he finally looked over, and I wished he hadn’t. With the dim windows and the way the sun was already hiding behind taller buildings nearby, I could have almost forgotten that this was Peter I was sitting next to, and if I did that, I would be in danger of letting myself admit that I found some of his features attractive. I couldn’t allow for that to happen, so I stared at the road instead.

“You’re taking me to this nice restaurant in the legal district - pretty ritzy, it’s called Sky View.” I scowled, and settled as far into my seat as the safety harness would allow, not responding at first; the fact that I’d never heard of the place was just another sign of our differences. When I realized that my first real look at the place I would end up living, where I’d go to the academy and maybe even work in one day, would be with Peter of all people, I felt robbed. Frustrated.

He filled the silence with his voice, just like I had expected him to from the start. “So, I’m amazed you haven’t asked about our little chat last night,” I glared up at the roof of the car and prayed for us to crash and burn right then and there. We didn’t. The road was smooth and the traffic was light. I’d have to endure his torture after all.

“Fine. Let’s talk about it.” 

“Alright” He gushed immediately, “let's see. So, I wake up to you, of all people, calling me and think, yeah okay you’re finally coming to terms with how great I am, obviously this is a confession of love or lust or--Oh fine, you’re no fun at all, did you know that?” 

I shot a sour look in his direction, waiting for him to continue; I think he expected me to laugh at his sarcasm, but that was difficult to do when it was entirely reliant on me being the punchline. After a few moments of silence, he rolled his eyes and looked back to the road, smiling all the while. I was already regretting the decision to discuss this - Peter was nothing more than a liar, of course he wouldn’t tell me what I said.

“Anyway. You were pretty pissed, shocker, I know. I almost hung up because, honestly, what do I have to gain from being yelled at by the likes of you at that hour of the morning, or any time, for that matter? But since I’m such a  _ nice _ guy,” I scoffed at that, which earned me a pointed look, clearly he was annoyed by all of my interruptions. Good. 

“I let you complain about me  _ to _ me for a good ten minutes before you started losing steam-- which was worth it in the end, because somewhere in your big, angry rant, you actually complimented me.”

“I  _ complimented  _ you?” That was impossible to believe - there wasn’t anything to compliment him on, so of course I wouldn’t have. He was just messing with me. I glared across the vehicle at him, suddenly wary, why hadn’t I been given the impeccable lie detector ability Al and Christina had? So far what he’d said matched up with what I’d have done sober, if I’d been angry enough, let alone drunk, but something about the look on his face was worrisome. He seemed amused.

Peter wasn’t the kind of person to just laugh off insults, or to chuckle like he currently was doing when someone defied him. So what had I said, what could I have possibly thought was nice enough about my blackmailer to say was enough to make him smirk instead of inciting rage in him? I’d seen first hand what he was like when he felt insulted - this wasn’t it, so whatever I’d said must have been bad.

“Yeah I don’t fully remember it all, I was pretty tired, but it was something like “you can take your shitty attitude and your pretty eyes and get lost, you creep” which, harsh, I know, but you _ did _ say my eyes are pretty,” As the words left his mouth he turned to stare at me, and I wanted to punch the satisfied look off of his face. His eyes were absolutely not pretty. Not one bit. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I wouldn’t lie about such a nice comment..” He hesitated for a moment and I could practically hear my last name on his lips, but finished weakly with, “Tris,” like he was trying it out. The syllables sounded strange in his voice, but it was a nice change. I could feel the blood rising to my face.

“I wouldn’t say that - your eyes aren’t pretty at all - they’re cold, and squinty, and mean. I hate the color, it’s like..mold or something.” I probably should have felt guilty for being so rude and childish, but I didn’t. He needed someone to pop a hole in that massive ego of his, and I was glad to do it so long as he continued teasing and harassing me.

“That’s not what you said on the phone. Last night you said they were gorgeous -  _ deep _ , even - and that you really liked the color. I think you and your drunken self need to have a discussion, because one of you is lying.” He narrowed his eyes at me and I looked away, I didn’t want to look into them  _ or _ at him right then. 

His lie made me feel sick - there was no possible way I’d said something like that, was there? His words were filled with amusement as he added in a hushed tone, “You know what they say about drunken words being sober thoughts,” I wanted to hit him, but he was driving, so I settled for glaring out the window to show I wasn’t at all interested in continuing this discussion. 

My face was hot compared to the cool glass of the window and I was almost positive it was entirely from anger. There was no way I he’d embarrassed me, that would mean that I believed him. “Moving on,” He hummed, like it was his idea; I had a knot in my stomach by that point, but I opted to ignore it, watching the buildings zipping by out of my window instead. 

“Okay, uh. Let’s see. Did you know you like to curse when you’re drunk? Specifically at me. It’s hilarious - you’re surprisingly good at it. You said you couldn’t wait to kick my ass in training, which, I mean, that’s not going to happen but it’s a nice thought.” That caught my attention. I jerked my head back in his direction with a look I could only hope was confident, and even managed a small smile.

“I will,”

“You will, what?” He looked confused, his brows furrowed together, and glanced my way for a few heartbeats. It was like he didn’t think that I might actually believe that I could beat him, that it was only something I’d say drunkenly. How could he know that I practically fantasized about besting him in front of everyone?

“Beat you, in training I mean. Just because you’re bigger doesn’t mean you’re better.” He snorted, I was sure the idea of losing to me wasn’t even something he’d imagined in his wildest dreams. I’d considered it ever since learning that men and women were scored and trained equally, side by side, during Sergeant Coulter’s speech. 

I’d been hoping for an opportunity to prove to Peter, and myself, that I wasn’t just some weakling who couldn’t defend herself - especially after the way I’d been overpowered in their apartment. I was eager to see the look on his face when I knocked him to the mat for the first time, when I finally beat him. For a brief moment I was reminded of my dream, of the pain in my ribs and head, but I tried to shake it off. Peter’s voice made for a decent anchor, so I forced myself to focus on what he was saying.

“We’ll see about that. You also made it a point to tell me you aren’t a child - I guess I hurt your feelings the other night after all.” I frowned into my lap, silently cursing myself. I didn’t need him to know that he touched a sensitive spot with those insults, I wanted him to think I was unshakable. Guess that was ruined. Even if he never got another ounce of dirt on my weaknesses, he’d at the very least always have that.

“No, you didn’t. I’m just not a fan of being belittled by someone as immature as you. It’s laughable that a person who steals things and forces someone to go on dates with them could call anyone a child,” I snapped, feeling my blood boil. I’d done so well, not getting angry with him, this entire trip, but now I was experiencing our fight in the hall all over again and I wanted to hit him like I had before. “Moving on. What else?”

When he didn’t respond, I finally pulled my gaze up to see what stupid expression he would be shooting my way this time, only to find that he was staring straight ahead, lost in thought. Was there more bad news for me? From what I’d gathered, we’d talked for half an hour, so I could only assume there was more to the conversation than what he’d said, that little bit of communication could hardly have been fifteen minutes, let alone thirty.

“So, what else?” It looked like I shocked him, or snapped him out of whatever stupor he was in because suddenly he jumped and turned his head in my direction. I was surprised by the look on his face, if it were anyone else I might have said he was embarrassed, but this was Peter. I wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of experiencing shame or anything close to self-consciousness, so it had to be something else. 

I fought the urge to bite my lip, not wanting to get lipstick on my teeth, and fixed him with a challenging stare. For once, Peter was the one to break eye contact, clearing his throat as he stared out at the road ahead. He was acting strange, more so than usual, what could possibly be so bad that he was hesitant to talk about it? It occurred to me, then, that I’d somehow shifted from assuming he was lying to believing him.

“Nothing, really. I mean, I complained about how I’d been having a nice dream and you woke me up to yell at me, but then your big idiot friend Al picked up the phone and told me to leave you alone. He’s pretty rude, even hung up on me.” There was something familiar in his tone, almost like when I’d talked to Al earlier today. Almost like..jealousy, but that couldn’t be right. What did he have to be jealous of?

Wait. 

“I’m sorry, did you say..Al took my phone and talked to you?” That couldn’t be right - he’d told me that  _ I  _ had been the one to end the call, that he hadn’t even known who was on the line. I wasn’t sure who to believe anymore, because Peter had sounded genuinely annoyed, and he looked it at the moment, too.

“Yeah, I did. The guy’s a major prick, and that’s me talking. Who just butts into a conversation like that?  _ Tris isn’t in the state of mind to be talking to you _ , I mean, what the fuck is that?” It was hard not to smile at how much this seemed to bother Peter - which, normally I would have questioned, but I was pretty pissed about the whole ordeal myself. 

What benefit did it serve for him to lie to me about how Al came into the equation? If what he said was true, it was more believable that I’d been lied to by the hulking soft hearted blonde, it would be better for him to not admit he’d decided who I could and couldn’t talk to into his hands. The vehicle slowed and Peter looked away from me, suddenly focused on driving again.

“..I’m gonna need to have a nice long talk with him, from the sound of things. I mean, he’s right, I should definitely not have been talking to you, or anyone for that matter, while I was that drunk, but it’s not his place to decide that.” Before Peter could muster up any sort of reply, we rolled to a stop outside of one of the redesigned buildings in the city. I’d been so distracted by our conversation that I’d barely made time to take in our surroundings - I’d missed my first good look at the legal district!

The skyscraper before us was almost all windows, illuminated with soft yellow light closer to the top to give it a halo. Peter seemed more relaxed than he had been before I’d asked about the rest of the call, which only raised my suspicions. He was definitely avoiding telling me something and he’d used Al to misdirect me. I was sure he realized that I was about to question him some more, because he seemed suddenly very jumpy as he unclasped his seat-belt and opened his door.

“Let’s go, then, before we lose our table.” That only served to deepen my frown, I didn’t trust him one bit, but got out of the vehicle all the same. A guy my age in a blue coat was standing near where we’d parked by the curb, all smiles, as he held his hand out to Peter, who immediately passed over the keys to his car. The man shifted over to a small pedestal, and returned with a slip that Peter then tucked into his pocket. The entire affair was really odd. I glanced over my shoulder to watch the retreat of my ride home, feeling a small ball of panic beginning to grow in my gut. I was trapped, now.

The warmth of a hand on my lower back caused me to tense, and snap my head around to glare at Peter before taking a few steps forward, so that his hand fell away entirely. “Rule number one for this - you don’t touch me without my permission.” I wanted that to sound harsher, but the words rang with a tone of desperation that shamed me. I sounded anxious rather than authoritative.

“Jeeze, okay, okay.” Peter held his hands up in a mock surrender and rolled his eyes, nodding towards the entrance of the building rather than guiding me with his hand as he’d originally planned to. We walked in silence, I considered the notion that I might have offended him, but made no move to apologize. I was in the right to demand the right to my own personal space, damn it.

We got into the lobby without making eye contact once. It was a quiet place that sent prickles of discomfort up the bare skin of my arms; I could hear each infuriating click of Peter’s heels all the way to the elevator which, thankfully, was functioning. I had a sneaking suspicion that things in this district worked a lot better than they did in the small blocks of city reserved for college and collegiate housing. 

Peter’s finger pressed down on a silver, circular button that almost immediately was illuminated with a blue ring of light before stepping back beside me again. “You look like you’re being escorted to your execution, Prior. Relax, would you?” That was easier said than done when I was being led by Peter into a small box with no immediate escape. I could feel my heart racing, and considered taking the stairs, but that was impossible in my current outfit, so I reluctantly joined him when the doors opened. It wasn’t like this could be any worse than being confined in a cramped car with him, right? Except now he wasn’t distracted by keeping us alive.

Peter stood with his hands in his pockets, I could feel his eyes on me, boring holes in my flesh. So I forced myself to look his way, to meet whatever cocky face he’d be pulling, only to watch him immediately glance to the side, as though he didn’t want me to know he’d been looking. Odd. The silence between us was suffocating and, for the second time in the history of ever, I wanted him to talk, just to fill the void. He didn’t - so I did. My voice bounced off of the stainless steel walls around us in a way that made me flinch.

“So why are we doing this, Peter? I’m sure you’d have a much better time with Molly here than you will arguing with me all night, that can’t possibly be worth whatever stupid torture I’m supposed to be going through.” The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a smile. Not a smirk, a genuine smile. That made me nervous, so I glanced away and stared at the scrubbed metal that wasn’t quite clear enough to reflect our images back at us. 

“I mean, you could get a free meal and annoy me in the cafeteria just as easily as this place. Seems like a lot of work just to get on my nerves,” He chuckled quietly, causing me to frown as I peeked at him from the corner of my eye - as far as I could tell he hadn’t looked at me since I’d caught him earlier - it felt like he was intentionally not paying attention to me.

“You ever consider that I genuinely am interested in your company?” 

“No.”

“..it was worth a shot.” Peter sighed, I could just see him shake his head in my peripheral, but I wasn’t going to be the one to look over first. If he was staring straight ahead, I’d do exactly the same. Besides, that just meant I didn’t have to see the smug, self assured expression he was bound to have on his stupid face. The rest of the elevator ride was spent in silence.

My breath caught in my throat as the elevator doors opened to reveal our destination with a soft  _ ding _ . We’d reached the highest level of the building - the rooftop itself. It had tables that were enclosed in a large glass dome for the biggest portion of the building, while the other part allowed you to look right out over the city with the only barrier being a railing. The wind was stronger topside, and colder, but the glass dome blocked the worst of it, making it bearable.

The view was beautiful, and for moment I allowed myself to forget where I was and who I was with. I could feel a wide smile pulling at the corners of my lips, but I couldn’t make myself reign it in. The lighting was low, provided by strings of small bulbs that only added to the atmosphere; everything was either steel or a dark wood. I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little bit impressed. 

We stopped in front of a smiling woman in a similar blue to the man who’d taken Peter’s car earlier, she stood behind a pedestal with a book, which was inclined away so that I was unable to see what was written on it. Names, most likely.“Hayes,” Peter said smoothly, like he came to places like this all the time, and her eyes drifted downward, trailing over lines of writing before a few moments before they look at either of us again. She continued to hold that smile that was polite but on the side of forced and waved a waiter in blue over to us. 

He smiled, too, as he pushed his glasses back up his nose; he was tall and confident, two traits I had begun to grow to hate in just about anyone.“Good evening, your table is right this way.” Even his voice was calm, collected and soothing. 

Peter mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, just loud enough for me to hear it over the wind, “Can I touch you?” To say I was shocked, both by the question and the weird genuine tone of his voice, would have been an understatement. I hadn’t expected him to swallow his pride and ask my permission, to give me any kind of power. Biting my tongue, I nodded, not trusting my voice out here.

In a matter of moments his fingers were splayed out against my lower back and I tried not to enjoy how warm his hand was. I was, admittedly, chilled - the season was still just on the side of too cold to be eating in a place like this - so his touch felt like fire, and I found myself leaning into him without meaning to. It seemed to surprise both of us, I felt him tense, but we walked forward without mentioning it all the same. 

Peter’s side was warm against mine and I pretended that I wasn’t even phased, despite the fact that my heart was pounding. It was to do with the heights and the cold and adrenaline, I told myself feebly, but I’d never been a particularly good liar. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Christina and Will sitting at one of the tables under the dome - they smiled at me, and I grimaced in return. They looked happy. 

He noticed them shortly after I did, rolling his eyes, “Small world, huh?” He sounded vaguely annoyed, but didn’t say anything else on the matter. I’d expected a plethora of taunts about needing babysitters and how I couldn’t handle doing anything on my own. Instead I was met with pensive silence. He just continued to act stranger and stranger, it seemed. I was beginning to think that..maybe I’d had him pegged wrong. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

The waiter stopped in front of one of the tables, right by the railing, and I felt my heart soar. I was seeing more of the city than I could remember ever having seen before - except..well, there was a twinge of familiarity to the view that I couldn’t quite place, but it filled me with adrenaline. It was beautiful. I glanced over my shoulder when I felt a chill where Peter’s hand had been moments before, only to see that he had pulled my chair out for me; I gave him a pointed look. He didn’t strike me as a gentleman.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to throw you from the roof already, Prior. I wouldn’t do anything that stupid - especially not here. I have a future, I don’t plan to spend it behind bars,” He sounded offended, and I had a hard time celebrating that fact. I found myself wishing that I’d worn a jacket once I was finally seated and no longer moving around. 

I sat ramrod, ignoring the fact that my teeth were chattering and my muscles were wracked with spasms of shivers; it was impossible to hide the little bumps all over my bare arms, however. I opted to bury my face in the menu to avoid looking at Peter, I didn’t want to see his satisfaction at my discomfort. 

Peter’s menu lifted as well, and I found myself a little disappointed despite knowing he wasn’t the type of person to care about my well-being. A small part of me had been hoping for..something. I was going crazy. “So, how do you like this place?” He asked, making me look up from the list of foods I was struggling to pick from. Everything sounded extravagant - I’d never been very adventurous where food was concerned - and I had no idea what I would have liked. The prices weren’t as bad as I’d been expecting, but I knew without adding it up that this would be the most I’d ever spent on one dinner.

“It’s..” I paused, looking back over the city - from this height I could see the expanse of the bog, the moonlight was slowly seeping in and filling in the gaps so that, if I squinted, I might have seen its former glory, “It’s gorgeous up here - I’m impressed,” That made him smile. The pull at his lips was another of the soft cornered ones, untainted by cruelty or laughter at my expense, and it made my stomach flip without my permission. I wished he wouldn’t do that, it made me want to like him. 

When the waiter returned to ask about drinks, Peter ordered a bottle of wine, and I raised my brows, but if he noticed my disapproval, he didn’t mention it. I’d never tried wine, but I wasn’t entirely sure it was the best idea to drink again so soon after last night - I’d only just gotten rid of the headache from that affair.. 

Our waiter didn’t ask me about my preference, so I kept quiet. My curiosity outweighed my wariness. As I resumed staring down at the menu, I heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor, but I was preoccupied with trying to make a decision based on food I’d never tried, so I paid it no mind. So, of course, he caught me off guard and, I jerked my head up when I was suddenly cloaked in a soft, warm material that turned out to be the jacket of his suit. 

I watched him silently walk back over to his seat where he sat gracefully, now wearing just his silvery tie and the black dress shirt. The jacket smelled like his cologne, and was silky on the inside; reluctantly I tucked my arms into its sleeves to escape the harsh wind and its chill. I had to roll the material up a few inches just to free my hands up for eating - I’d have to be very careful not to drag his nice jacket through my plate of food, now. “..Thank you,” 

“Don’t mention it, what fun would this be if I let you freeze to death? And I’m glad you like it, I thought you might.” It felt like I was sitting across from a stranger wearing Peter’s skin; he would never have cared, even if my lips were turning blue before, and since when did he consider things I would like? 

Wasn’t this supposed to be about what  _ he _ liked and my discomfort? I kept trying to remind myself of who I was dealing with, that as soon as he’d lulled me into a false sense of comfort he’d strike, and I’d be weak against the attack. I needed to keep my guard up, but it was getting harder and harder to accomplish that feat with every one of those stupid, soft smiles of his.

He leaned forward and flattened the menu I’d been hiding behind, pointing to a couple of things on it. It felt like he knew I was overwhelmed, he likely did, I was sure that my inexperience was written all over my face. “That salad is good, it’s got some steak in it - and the steak itself is pretty great, too.” I wanted to understand his angle, to see cruelty behind the lie he was painting so prettily, because it was difficult for me to be rude at the best of times, let alone when he was being so civil. 

I swallowed my pride, just a little, and smiled at him, mumbling my thanks again, for lack of something better to say. I had no witty retort, no banter, just a mounting level of insecurity. I felt stupid for not even knowing what food to order, but he didn’t hold that over my head. Maybe he was just saving all of these little moments of weakness to throw in my face later. My stomach twisted at the thought.

When our waiter made his second return, Peter ordered the steak, so I did, too. The more I thought it over, the less I was sure I’d ever even had steak before. Searching for childhood memories, even something small like meals, made my head hurt, like something was pushing me back, so I stopped trying and sighed in defeat. Maybe I wasn’t quite over that hangover after all. 

The smell of Peter was surrounding me and I was having a hard time convincing myself that I didn’t like it.  _ It’s just the cologne _ , I told myself firmly,  _ not Peter _ , but I’m not entirely sure how true that was. I was treading dangerous waters.

“So..um,” I paused, not sure if I wanted to admit that I was completely at a loss. What would Peter do with the knowledge that I’d never been on a date before? Maybe I should have stopped there and not told him, but I had no idea what came next; what was expected of me. It was all a mystery. Ignoring him seemed like a good route, but he was being nice, so I figured I was supposed to do the same. I didn’t want him to revert back to his unpleasant nature, after all, and be stuck with that for the entire evening. 

He was watching me silently, waiting for me to finish my thought, which was just another oddity that I was unaccustomed to. “..What do we do, now?” Since I couldn’t bite my lips, or my nails, I settled for chewing on the inside of my cheek, and watched his face register what I’d just said. It seemed to take him a minute to understand the implication of my words. 

He raised his brows as realization dawned on him, seeming genuinely surprised, and rubbed at his chin while laughing in a way that could almost be described as nervous. Except that I’d never seen or heard him nervous before. Did he not know about dates, either? I doubted that very seriously. So why did my lack of knowledge make him uncomfortable?

“Have you really never been on a date before?” I shook my head and shifted uncomfortably, trying to figure out which Peter I was about to see; the rude, sarcastic one that lived to see me suffer, or the Peter who had crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, and wrapped me in his jacket just to shield me from the cold? I could already hear him teasing me, even if his face was still thoughtful. There was no way he’d pass up ribbing me about this.

“You should try the wine,” He finally spoke up, his voice quiet, and I thought, just maybe, he looked a little guilty. Oh. I didn’t know what to do with that information, so I chose to ignore it, and picked up the glass in front of me. It was a fragile looking thing, made tall with a round base and an area to rest my fingers around a narrow stem, ending in a thin bowl filled with a nearly clear liquid. It smelled sour and fruity, and I wasn’t sure I’d like it, but it was worth a shot. 

Watching Peter, I noticed right away that he didn’t take large sips like you might with whiskey or beer, instead he tentatively tipped it back and drained a small amount. I mimicked him, finding the first taste incredibly bitter, it almost turned me away, but the aftertaste softened the flavor. The trickle of liquid warmed as it eased down my throat and into my stomach. It was much more pleasant than the foul things I’d drank with Will and the others, and by the second sip I was starting to like it.

“So, you’ve been on a lot of dates, then?” I asked, trying to sound withdrawn, but it hit me, suddenly, that I was a novice next to him. I didn’t like knowing next to nothing about something someone else was so informed on - particularly Peter - and yet I’ve surrounded myself with a place full of firsts for me. How did I let that happen? And why did the idea of Peter sitting across from possibly multiple other people, right where we were now, bother me so much? I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me; it was a sensation I’d grown used to over the past few weeks.

“Yeah, I’ve been on a few - but not with anyone with enough brains for it to count, until now,” I raised my head quickly, wondering if that was a compliment for my sake, or just an insult to his past endeavors. He was smiling that weird, friendly smile again, and I felt myself return it without meaning to. I needed to figure a way out of this, Peter Hayes was breaking down my walls, sound the alarms!

“So, when you’re not arguing with me in class, what do you do for fun? I mean, I’ve seen you in the Pit a few times, but you don’t seem like a partier.” For a moment I watched him, trying to pick up on any sign that he was making fun of me, but only found genuine curiosity in his face. I took another sip from the glass, stalling for time. The shift in topic had thrown me off.

“I like to run..and read,” I admitted, suddenly uncertain about what exactly I did for fun - the real answer was nothing - college had been such a centrifugal part of my life for so long now that I wasn’t entirely sure I even knew how to really _ have _ fun. The closest to that would have been the times I was dragged into public with Christina, to go to a club or a bar, but I enjoyed hiding in our apartments watching movies a lot more. 

In truth I was very boring, it appeared. He seemed to be waiting for me to say more, but I shrugged and stared at the table in front of me, hiding my hands under it so he wouldn’t be able to see how they were balled into fists to keep from shaking. How dare he make me feel self conscious just because I studied too hard to do much more than read a book or take a jog?

“You’re an anomaly, Tris,” He said my name with ease, that time, and I managed to look up without feeling the knot in my stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, but it wasn’t an insult, either. “I mean you’ve got this whole angry, tough girl persona going on, and I can’t seem to get past it. What’s under all that grit and rage?” Did he think I was being short with him, not being honest about myself, just to look tough? I frowned and sat a little straighter, jutting my chin out defiantly. I forgot who I was dealing with for a second. If he wanted to know these things, it was likely to hurt me.

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t torture people I don’t even know for kicks, or date idiots just to give me something to do. Reading is nice, Running is  _ fun _ \- I like it, and it doesn’t hurt anyone.” That seemed to shut him up, he lifted his glass and avoided my eyes. Thankfully our food showed up right then, over-encumbering our smiling waiter, and giving us a valid excuse to not talk to one another. 

The hunk of meat before me was well portioned compared to the massive one on Peter’s plate; I’d ordered a petite, which I was grateful for as I begin to cut the tender meat. There was no way I could have eaten more than that. The whole process was difficult to do without getting the sleeves of my borrowed jacket dirty, but I managed, somehow. 

During this whole process there was a lingering silence between us, only broken by the sound of metal against ceramic, which was setting my teeth on edge. If I’d learned anything since he’d come into my life, it was that there was nothing so dangerous as silence where Peter was concerned. I was holding my breath.

“We can’t all be all perfect and  _ pure _ like you,” His tone was jarringly cold - I’d almost let myself forget he could sound like that - and any kindness he’d been showing me before was long gone. I must have struck a chord, which should have made me feel victorious, but the knowledge only served to twist my stomach into knots. I glanced down at my plate as I mumbled under my breath that I wasn’t any of those things. For some reason, I decided to peer up at him from beneath my lashes, checking to see what kind of emotion I would find. I expected anger, but was met with confusion, instead.

His head was tilted slightly and his brows were furrowed - there was a frown right where it’d been when I had broken eye contact before. “What was that?” I scowled, no longer cowering, and looked him dead in the eye - it was jarring to see the green in them, brought out by the fairy lights above us, if I looked close enough I could just see a light ring of gold around his pupils. Suddenly it was hard to say, even to myself, that they’ weren’t gorgeous. Shit. I was in trouble.

“I  _ said _ ,” I gritted my teeth, speaking up for him, “I’m not perfect,” He scoffed and took a large bite of his steak, choosing that moment to tear his eyes from mine in favor of staring at the table instead. This was Peter, the guy who blackmailed me into being there, who had made the last three weeks of my life a living hell. So why did I feel bad, suddenly? 

I finally remembered my own steak, taking a much smaller bite than he had, and for a moment I was distracted by the flavor alone. It melted on my tongue and was almost overwhelming in its seasoning, but in the best possible sense - the little chunk of meat may possibly have been the best thing I’d ever tasted. How had I missed out on something like this before now?

I glanced at Peter, then, tempted to thank him for the recommendation. He wasn’t watching me, like I’d grown used to him doing. He was eating methodically with his gaze still lowered, it was a habit I recognized easily, I’d looked like that many times, I imagined, since Peter and co. started teasing me and I’d just wanted to get my meal out of the way, eager to be done and to move on. Why was this such a big deal to him, to the unshakable force that had been my tormentor for the last few weeks? 

I’m not even sure why I did it, but I leaned forward then and put my hand over his, stopping his fork from digging into another chunk of meat. That got his attention. Peter glanced up at me with his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth puckered into a look that fell somewhere between mistrust and confusion. Once I had his focus again, I pulled my hand back, the lingering tingle of warmth that his skin left on mine made me uncomfortable. 

“Why did you want to do this, Peter?”

“You keep asking me that.” It wasn’t an answer, but it was all he said for a few moments, sounding like a sulky child. I forced myself to eat a few more bites of my steak, not wanting it to get cold, and watched him warily, “I dunno, maybe it was the only way to see who you are, without the distraction of school and..Molly and Drew - just..an even playing field or something. You’re right that I don’t know you.” 

He wasn’t apologizing for what he’d done, which was annoying, but I wouldn’t have believed him if he’d said sorry, anyway. That just wasn’t him. A tiny voice whispered to me eagerly;  _ he just wants to get to know you. _ But I couldn’t believe that so easily. Why would he pick now to decide I was a human being with feelings? Someone to talk to, rather than attack?

“..That makes sense. I’m sure you’re regretting that decision, now,” That garnered a chuckle from him, and I chose that moment to get a chill from the wine, or the wind, or both, as a shiver ran up my spine and made me flinch.

“Mm. No, not really.” 

“Oh.” I nodded, pretending to understand him, and focused on my food. I found myself wishing I could catch Christina or Will’s eye from my seat, but there was a wide panel separating us from the inside tables - I was sure it was meant to create a sense of privacy, or god forbid, intimacy. The conversation continued tentatively from there. I learned that Peter enjoyed music, a lot, that he didn’t care about many people or things, but was very passionate about the few that he did, and he had a little sister. 

He learned that I was being honest in my love for running and reading, and that I have a brother that I don’t talk to, not out of anger, but because it wasn’t convenient for him. It felt weird to tell him about Caleb. It made me nervous to give him information he could use against me. Neither of us talked about anything too terribly deep, we didn’t give one another any kind of weapon to bring up later. It was..surprisingly nice, just talking like that without the hostility. He didn’t even accuse me of being in love with him once.

Christina and Will were still seated at their table, just on the edge of the indoor area when we got up to leave. They were laughing, and holding hands over the table; I didn’t catch their attention, thankfully, and smiled to myself despite the small twinge of jealousy I felt at their untainted night. Peter looked in their direction and scoffed, but refused to tell me why when I asked. He simply shrugged and muttered something about predictability under his breath. 

He was possibly the most confusing human I’d ever met.

Admittedly, the wine had gone to my head a little, though I hadn’t realized it until I’d stood up earlier, and when Peter made a joke at the expense of a poor woman and her ridiculous wig, I actually laughed, which surprised the both of us as we stepped into the elevator. His hand was on my back again, guiding me, and I found that I didn’t mind him not asking me first. The ride down was mostly silent, he didn’t move his hand from my back and I didn’t ask him to.

When we stepped outside, his car was already there and running, ready to take us home, I was still wrapped tightly in his suit jacket and he hadn’t made any move to take it from me. There was this comfortable, almost friendly silence between us now. It wasn’t charged with awkwardness of discomfort or the need to fill it with useless banter.

“Are you okay to drive..?” I turned to him with wide eyes, worried he might have been as lightheaded as I was, but he seemed fine. No - fine was a bad word to use. Steady. Once again, I was reminded of the drawbacks that come with my size, I hadn’t expected to get tipsy off the sour liquid, especially since we’d had so little of it, but it had been easy to drink when I needed something to wash my steak down. I was certain I’d regret the choice of beverage tomorrow, but right then it felt lovely. Everything was warm and just on the side of spinny. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” Peter opened the door for me, now holding my arm by the elbow gently, as I eased into a sitting position. It didn’t even strike me as odd that he helped me this time. I, somehow, managed to fold my legs into the vehicle without hurting myself or ruining the nice outfit Christina had worked so hard to get me into. 

Peter leaned into my side of the car before I could even try to buckle up, gently dragging the belt over my torso until he was hovering over me entirely, and I heard a soft click. He stayed there, above me, for a few heartbeats, and I was fully aware that I wasn’t breathing, but he was, and his breath fanned my face. It smelled like dinner mints. Something in me that felt silly and giddy imagined that he was going to kiss me, which sent tingles down my spine. Weird.

Instead, he pulled back, and left me to gulp in a fresh breath of air as he closed my door on his way out. I couldn’t fathom why I felt disappointed by that. I snuggled down into his jacket for warmth, suddenly aware of how cold the car was now, that I didn’t have Peter in my personal space distracting me. Without meaning to I took a deep breath with my nose pressed into the silky fabric of his jacket and my senses were overloaded with the scent that was so absolutely Peter - either his smell, or the alcohol, made me dizzy. I took another deep breath. 

When his door opened abruptly, and brought with it a swift gust of cold air, I was startled, and turned to look at him like I’d been caught in the act of some crime. He grinned at me and raised his brows, and it was absolutely unfair how someone so mean could be so cute. Maybe Al had been right. Maybe Peter, alcohol, and myself didn’t mix - or..maybe we did. That was an even more terrifying notion.

“You okay there, lush?” I tried to scowl at him, but my huff turned into a laugh and I was vaguely aware of thinking that this was nice. I felt light and fuzzy and was suddenly unsure of why I had been so anxious, so unwilling to go on this date with him. I’d had fun, right? There had been a reason, but I couldn’t for the life of me grasp it.

“I am just peachy, yep.” I hummed with another bubble of laughter as I leaned back in his seat and breathed in deeply, this time not into his jacket..mostly because he was watching me. “It smells really good in here,” The words tumbled out of me, but I felt no real inclination to grasp them back. 

It seemed strange, to not speak my mind, so I opted for honesty. Peter chuckled, either at me or at the whole bizarre situation, I wasn’t sure, but I did know one thing: I liked that sound. It was this deep, throaty noise that had a little bit of gravel to it - the kind of sound that covered my arms with goose flesh. It reminded me of something, but I wasn’t sure what. I grinned at him for lack of a better response.

“Do that again,” I demanded, and he blinked at me owlishly, so I leaned over and poked his chest, still staring up at him. “Laugh.” So he did, a little louder than before, I smiled at him and broke into a fit of giggles. I poked at his torso gently, right where I knew there was a cluster of freckles and peeked up at him. “Again.” This time he sighed, until I prodded at his hip and he laughed reflexively, pulling back from my jabs.

He was looking at me funny, not like he was laughing at me, it was more like he’d never seen me before. That was a weird way to look at someone, but I didn’t mind so much because his eyelids were heavy and his pupils were flared out, and I liked those things on him. 

For a long moment we just alternated between me grinning at him, and his resulting laughter cracking me up, without an explanation, before he looked away from me. It seemed like he suddenly remembered something, and whatever it was took his smile away. I didn’t like that. He shifted the car into drive and I ducked further into his jacket, humming to myself. I wished he would look at me again - his eyes really were pretty, even in the dim light.

  
“I told you I like drunk you better,” Peter murmured after..some point of time, I couldn’t honestly tell you how long. If I didn’t know better than to think him capable of it, I might have said he sounded sad. But that was impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So, for the first time in ever, we get a placid, decent Peter being all gentlemanly. I love it. I'm going to try very hard to make sure my next chapter is up on time but I'm going on vacation in a few days so I might be just a little bit behind - but I'll have a short retelling of the phone conversation to go along with it just in case, I've almost finished both of them.
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you think about everything so far. Is Peter genuinely being a good guy, or does he have another cruel trick up his sleeve? We'll see what's around the corner in (hopefully) a week's time! Thank you for reading and sticking with me guys!


	7. Drapetomania

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay first off I am /so/ sorry that this took so long. Ran into some bad scheduling and had absolutely no time to work on this before I had to go back to work, so unfortunately I don't have the finished conversation oneshot done, but I will by next Tuesday, on my honor.
> 
> So, thank you all for being so patient - enjoy the new chapter! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Drapetomania  
> (n) an overwhelming urge to run away

The ride home was mostly a blur to me, I’m not even sure that we talked, really. I even dozed off a few times, but Peter didn’t seem to mind. He played music on the radio and it was nice - there were no lyrics, just instruments, but I really liked it. I thought of telling him so, but I was  comfortable and warm, so I closed my eyes and listened to it instead. 

The next time I opened them, I had no idea how much time had passed, but Peter’s hand was on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, and he was saying my name softly. I blinked a few times and smiled at him - I’m not sure why. If I remembered right, he wasn’t very nice, I shouldn’t have done that, but he smiled back so that was okay.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee..” He seemed uncomfortable, maybe even a little nervous, so I sat up straighter and tried to focus. It was difficult to do, I wanted so badly to give in to the light, silly feeling buzzing in my head. I bit my cheek, thinking about what he said - it seemed pretty late for coffee, that was an odd thing to offer me when all I wanted to do was sleep.

He snapped his fingers next to my face suddenly, and I leaned away from the noise; the fuzziness cleared a bit as I forced myself to focus on his face, and then our surroundings. We were parked in the campus lot and, now that I thought about it, I had no idea when we’d even stopped driving. That scared me. “Tris - did you hear me?”

“I..uh, yeah. Coffee. I don’t..I’m not really in the mood.” He must have turned the air on because it was cold now, even with the suit jacket. I found myself grateful for the chill, it helped to clear my head. The fog from my nap, as well as the alcohol, was still there, but I was able to concentrate a little easier.

“I think maybe I should just go home.” He bit down on his lower lip and frowned, looking at me in this weird, pleading way that didn’t fit right with his features. He had a face made for gloating and sarcasm, not begging.

“Are you sure? I’d feel better if you were a little more alert before I dropped you off, we could swing by my place for a cup and then I could take you home.” Alarm bells started going off in my head, triggering my natural distrust in Peter and all that he stood for. What was he planning, now? Why was he suddenly so concerned about this? Why not when I’d nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the car earlier?  

“If I need coffee, I can just make it at my apartment,” I was suddenly sure I didn’t want to go home with him, what if “coffee” wasn’t actually coffee at all? Did he really think I was that kind of person? Peter gave me one last look of desperation, but I simply shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, staying defiant.

He set his jaw and I saw a muscle clench from the side, clearly that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, which meant I must have been doing something right. My dizziness faded a little when I focused on the ball of anger resting in my gut, on my suspicion and discomfort. He didn’t look mad, oddly enough; afraid, maybe, but that didn’t seem right. I’d never seen him afraid before.

“Please take me home, Peter..” I muttered quietly, feeling the powerlessness in knowing that he controlled our destination ultimately, especially since I was in no state to go walking by myself. I thought of texting Christina for help, but remembered with a groan that I’d left my cell phone resting on my pillow. I’d been so surprised by Peter knocking on the door that I hadn’t gone back to get it! Shit.

He pulled out of the student lot silently, his mouth still set into a hard frown. As I began to recognize street names, and saw that we were actually heading for my apartment, I let out a breath I hadn’t even been aware I’d been holding and leaned my head back against the seat. Crisis averted.

The cold air made me wish I had a blanket, but he didn’t make any move to turn it off, even when my teeth started to chatter. I stubbornly chose not to ask him to, burrowing deeper into his jacket. The ride from campus to the complex I lived in was short, only ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity with the tense quiet that had built up between us. He must have turned the radio off before trying to wake me, along with turning on the air, because there was no comforting backdrop of a melody to focus on.

I started five or ten different conversations with him in my head, but my mouth stayed firmly shut, not letting any words escape. Eventually I reached forward, intending to turn the air conditioner off myself, when his hand shot out and surprised me by swatting my fingers away.

I sat up straighter and glared at him through the darkness. His face was only dimly illuminated by the lights across the dash, but I’d somehow managed to memorize every rise and fall and lash so that I could fill in the blanks. I hated that.

“Leave it..” He mumbled without looking from the road, I couldn’t quite tell what was going on in his head. I wanted to fight with him, to complain about being cold and wanting to turn it off before he made me sick, but I couldn’t find it within me to.

Part of me was bothered by the realization that nothing had changed. Tomorrow we would resume business as usual and go right back to butting heads after this. It had been fun, but we couldn’t change who we were. It was infuriating to accept that I was genuinely upset by that thought.

When we finally parked, I stayed unmoving for a moment, trying to clear my head enough to unbuckle my seat belt. I didn’t even notice that Peter had gotten out of the car until my door opened, and the slightly warmer air outside rushed in to greet me.

I peered up at him, then, and found that he still looked uneasy as he reached forward, and helped me out of the vehicle. He didn’t hover over me like he’d done back at the restaurant, and I wasn’t entirely sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed by that. I managed to unbuckle myself after two fumbles, which he didn’t laugh at.

I decided, as we stumbled forward, that I was incredibly lucky to have a ground floor apartment - and by that logic, so was Peter - because we wouldn’t need to struggle our way up any steps, which would have been an absolute nightmare.

The housing unit I lived in was the type with two buildings that ran side by side with an enclosed hall down the middle so that my neighbor’s door was only a few inches to the right across the hall from mine. Normally, the walkway wasn’t even something I glanced at twice on my way in from class or studying, but this wasn’t a normal situation.

At the moment, that hall was dark and threatening, and I wasn’t as bothered as I normally would have been when Peter’s hand found my hip, leading me forward. I racked my brain for answers, trying to figure out when exactly I’d begun to associate his presence with safety rather than danger, but came up short, so I let it drop.

I had bigger things to deal with, like how the world was only just slowing down for me, and the warm buzz I’d had was going strong. I was home, I’d be inside and safe in a few minutes, so what if I let him touch me for a change? Who was going to see it?

Even as I began fishing in the small purse Christina lent me for my keys, walking slowly, neither of us had spoken. It wasn’t a comfortable silence. The bulbs overhead flicked on almost as soon as we entered the hall, alerted by our movement, and we were washed in a greenish, pale light that did nothing to remove the ominous feeling from the air.

It made Peter’s features look far more severe than they had before. My hand grasped the keys tight enough that the sharp edges dug into my skin painfully; I was nervous. Why was I nervous?

He swallowed hard, and started to step away from me as I leaned my back against the front door for support. I didn’t know why I said it, but the words tumbled out without my permission. That seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

“Thank you..for tonight,” His shoulders tensed, and he slowly turned back to face me again; that look was still there, boring into my soul. Like he was suffering, asking me for something without words, but we weren’t on the same frequency at all.

Why was I thanking him? Didn’t he bribe me into doing this in the first place? The logical part of me was screaming, telling me to shut up. Unfortunately, whatever idiot side of me decided to talk in the first place continued without my permission.

“I had..fun - I didn’t expect to, but I did.” The words felt weird..wrong, though I knew I meant them and, while he was certainly no angel, I was finding it hard to think of him as wholly awful now. Maybe that was the alcohol talking, it was a good thing to blame for the unexplainable.

He took a few cautious steps back to my door, and rested a hand on each of my biceps; I was sure I’d heard him grit his teeth, then. He looked like he wanted to talk, to say something important - maybe I should have heard him out, that would have been the logical thing to do.

Without meaning to, I found myself leaning up - that was definitely  _ not  _ hearing Peter out, I realized, but I was beyond the point where logic overcame stupidity, apparently. Somehow this was the best option to me, or to that part of me that always ended up getting me intro trouble.

I told myself sternly that it didn’t have to mean anything if I kissed him. I could still hate him come tomorrow, no one was there to see it, I could deny it. Deny him. It seemed that drunk me was easily coerced, as I found myself believing that bit of sound logic. My head was fuzzy, and his lips looked soft, so why shouldn’t I have taken that risk?

Who knew, maybe it would have been nice? Maybe I would have enjoyed it.

I’d never kissed anyone before, so wasn’t it about time? Peter was looking at me strangely, like he’d swallowed something that tasted bad, but I didn’t let myself try to think about that. If I did, I’d convince myself I was being an idiot and I’d stop.

I took a deep breath and rose to my tip toes - he wasn’t doing me any favors by leaning down to help gap the distance, but that didn’t discourage me - and Peter’s fingers were suddenly digging into my arm, far too tight. It hurt.

That should have been a dead giveaway. How could I have been so stupid?

When he still didn’t shift or lean down to gap the distance, my hand found the soft material of his tie and I pulled him forward myself, trying to be gentle despite my lack of coordination. He grunted in what I could only assume was surprise, eyes widening.

That must have been the last shove he needed, because without my assistance, he dipped his face closer to mine. I could feel our breaths mingling, but our lips didn’t touch yet. My heart decided to take up residency in my throat.

I was left staring into his eyes, and up close there was no denying that they were stunning - that  _ he _ was stunning. There was electricity in my veins and I was having a very hard time breathing, all of a sudden. I should have stopped then. Instead, I closed my eyes and tipped my chin up, not quite able to brush our lips, but hopefully he’d be merciful and meet me in the middle.

Except that he didn’t. I waited - one heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

My heart was in my throat. What was he waiting for? I was about to open my eyes, or pull him into me, I’m not entirely sure which, when I heard laughter, and saw a bright flash from beneath my eyelids. It felt like something cold and sharp had slithered down my throat and made my stomach its home, slicing me open on its journey. My skin prickled with unease.

I knew that laugh. It squeaked too loudly, bouncing off the bricks in the walkway and assaulting me on all sides. My eyes shot open as my stomach twisted into knots, suddenly I wanted nothing more than to run away, to hide and never come out again.

I’d played right into their hands.

Peter chuckled, then, and it may have been my imagination, but it sounded a little forced. Or..maybe that was what I wanted to hear. I took a cautious step back, only to feel my back pressed firm against the cold metal of my door, and looked at him.  _ Really _ looked at him, as my blood turned to ice.

His shoulders were slumped, and it looked like he still had that bad taste in his mouth. Good - I hope this tasted like poison to him. Panic was bubbling in my chest as the gravity of the situation hit me - I forgot myself just long enough to fall into a trap.

Molly rounded one corner of the hall, and I spotted Drew out of the corner of my eye. He was standing behind Peter with a camera in hand - when our eyes met he let out a low whistle that made my blood boil. How had I let them sneak up on me like that?

“This is one for the scrapbook, Peter!” Drew cackled in that same, irritatingly high pitched way he always did, while Molly was dangerously silent, she was looking at me like I’d done something wrong. Like I’d been the one to hurt  _ them _ . I wished I had been, then there wouldn’t be a gaping hole growing in my chest, making me feel sick.

I didn’t think, didn’t give myself time to consider my options, or experience the emotions threatening to spill over inside of me. On one hand, at least I was slightly more sober now, I could be thankful for that.

In one fell swoop I released Peter’s tie and shoved my hands hard into his chest - he let my arms go without any struggle what so ever, stumbling a few steps back and colliding with Drew. The pair of them made varying noises of surprise and Molly bristled.

The smell of his cologne was swimming in my head, but it was no longer pleasant, he was no longer safe. He never was. I glared at him, my face hot, and felt my fingers tingling - with rage or panic I had no way of knowing. I almost kissed him. I almost kissed  _ Peter _ of all people

He was smiling, but it wasn’t quite right - part of me wanted to believe he felt bad, that he didn’t want to do this to me. I thought back to his offer of coffee, and how desperate he was not to take me home. Was he trying to back out of this plan? 

No. It was more likely that he was trying to stall so his friends could set up before we got back..or worse, maybe he’d planned something more embarrassing if I’d actually gone home with him. I had never hated Peter more than I had in that moment.

I shook my head, trying to push away those kinds of thoughts, and scowled even harder. I yanked his suit jacket from my shoulders and threw it to the ground without hesitation - he didn’t even flinch, just stared at me. I wouldn’t make excuses for this sorry prick, I wouldn’t. I knew what kind of person he was from the beginning and I  _ still _ let him soften me up with false kindness and wine.

I should have known better. Peter wasn’t to blame - I was. My eyes were burning and I felt like I might have started crying, but I refused to, not in front of those people. All I could think was that I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt them all, to make them feel as bad as I did. So I did, or tried to, at least.

I drew my fist back, this time I didn’t hesitate to punch him directly in the face as hard as I could; his nose made a satisfying  _ crunch _ as a jolt of white hot pain shot through my bones, but I welcomed it. The pain was a distraction from the growing void, from the shame that was slowly burning me alive. Peter yelled as his hands flew to his face and blood poured through the gaps between his fingers. Good.

He didn’t defend himself like the last time we fought as I lunged for another strike, this time landing a hard punch to the hands that covered his nose. The cry of pain that escaped him made me feel at least a little bit better.

I didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy it before the left side of my head began to ring and I felt a twinge of agony in my ear. Between the throbbing in my ear and the fact that I was falling, I had no idea what was up and what was down. The world went sideways and a fresh wave of pain shot up my temple as the momentum of the punch left my head bouncing against my front door.

I saw stars, and collapsed against it, turning slowly, too slowly. I wanted to raise my hands, to block my face, but I was pretty sure I was going to be sick, and the ground wouldn’t stop spinning long enough for me to get my footing.

I heard Molly let out a violet yell and thought in a fuzzy part of my mind that she’d been the one to hit me. Drew wouldn’t have, he was a coward. My world was slanted - I couldn’t defend myself, there was no way. I could barely stand. Her fist collided with my stomach and knocked the breath from me.

Knowing I couldn’t do anything about that strike, let alone the next that I knew she’d be throwing my way, I collapsed against the door behind me and waited with closed eyes, wheezing for breath. It hurt too much to try and open them. The impending connection of her fist on my flesh never came, and her next cry of anger was cut short.

Curious, I forced myself to squint my eyes open - despite the starburst of pain that flared up when I did - to see that Peter was holding Molly’s wrist tight, staring her down with an expression that terrified me.

His mouth and chin were covered in blood, and a bruise was already forming across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes. I found myself hoping it hurt, hoping his nose didn’t heal right if I managed to break it. Hoping I broke it.

His blood was smeared over her arm and his hand, painting them both, and I chose to look at that instead of their faces. When he spoke his voice was sharp, and cold. I thought I’d heard the coldest he could be the first time I punched him and refused to apologize, but I was so wrong.

“That’s enough, Molly. We’re  _ even _ .” There was pain in her eyes and I wasn’t sure if it was from the way he said the words, or the grip he had on her arm, but I didn’t care. He could break her wrist for all I cared, and her heart, too.

I considered attacking them, then, of flinging myself at the pair like a furious, wounded animal, but I knew I didn’t stand a chance. I didn’t want to risk Peter deciding to hurt me. Deciding we were no longer even.

“Get away from my house.” I was surprised by how calm I sounded, but my voice still slurred, trembling slightly with emotion, and I hated hearing it. Before I spoke the pair of them had been staring one another down, but both of their heads snapped in my direction then; Molly, with rage in her eyes, and Peter with..I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, I stared at the blood oozing down his chin and painting his mouth red - his lips didn’t look soft anymore. Maybe they never really did. I spoke again, my voice shaking with rage. “Get away from  _ me. _ ”

“Tris I-”

“Don’t you dare talk to me, Peter. Don’t. You keep my name out of your mouth and  _ go _ .” I wanted to feel satisfaction at the way his face dropped, but I just felt sick. Used. He did all that to make a spectacle out of me, and it worked. I wouldn’t let him trick me into thinking he cared, this was just another joke he was playing. I wouldn’t be the punchline.

I didn’t pause to see if they were still standing there, I could hear Molly’s heavy footsteps -stomps, really- receding, and I could only assume everyone else followed suit. I dropped my keys, and cursed loudly, ducking down to get them. My head was pounding by now. It took three tries before I managed to get my key in the lock, but when I did, I jerked the door open and immediately slammed it shut behind me.

With the wall as a barrier between myself and the outside world I allowed myself to crumble - I was almost positive Christina wouldn’t be home until the next day, so there was nothing to worry about as far as being heard. With the freedom of solitude, the dam broke, and tears rolled down my face in a flood, choking me. I wasn’t crying for Peter - for his betrayal - I was crying for my own stupidity.

For my weakness.

I was crying out of rage. Out of pain. For letting myself believe that this could have been anything but an opportunity to get revenge. I was crying because, rather than showing him that I was strong, unbreakable, I showed him that I was just a silly girl who could easily be manipulated. I showed him he could hurt me.

I’m not sure how long I sat there, sobbing, with my head on my knees, but at some point I fell asleep.

* * *

 

I was climbing rusted rungs of the dilapidated ferris wheel’s maintenance ladder, near the abandoned sector of the city, when I became aware of myself. The sun was nowhere to be seen, and I felt harsh wind whipping at me, yanking on my hair and clothes. There was someone below me, I thought, but I couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter - the climb did.

I just kept moving higher. I didn’t have time to think about why I was doing this, about how I got there, my mouth was set into a firm line and I was breathing heavily out of my nose. This was important - not reckless. I could hear a whisper of logic telling me I needed to get to a vantage point.

_ I have to find their flag. _

The thought surfaced, surprising me with its familiarity, at the exact moment a metal rung broke beneath my boot. My suspicions of there being another person below were confirmed when I felt someone steady me, and my heart was in my throat. Their hand was warm on my hip. I moved again and ignored my racing heart - it had little to do with fear and much to do with my adrenaline.  

I was buzzing with excitement, I knew I should have been terrified, but I felt alive as the cold filtered into my fingers and numbed them one by one. The climb continued for longer than I could keep time with - I was struck with the realization that the majority of this dream wasn’t clouded with fog - I could see out across the barren part of the city, to the drained lake and its puddles. It took my breath away and I felt a chill up my spine.

Finally, after what felt like ages, I’d finally climbed high enough and spotted a bright square of color off in the distance. I pointed it out to my blurry companion, who seemed fairly proud of me. That sent a tingle of excitement up my spine. With the knowledge of the enemy flag at our disposal, we began our slow descent back down.

One minute I was fine, moving easily downwards, and the next I was dangling from a bar, who even knew how many feet off the ground. I felt the first twinges of panic in my gut and twisted around, searching for help. That only served to make me feel sick - any time I tried to focus on the person behind me, the world flipped upside down or turned on its side so that I couldn’t focus.

Time didn’t make sense, nor did the buzzing noise I thought might have been wind coming from below, ready to pluck me from the ferris wheel and deliver me to the ground. I could almost hear a voice telling me to hold on, but that was likely my imagination.

If my fingers weren’t aching, and my life weren’t in danger, I might have enjoyed the clarity of the view in front of me, made even more impressive without the bars of the wheel in the way, but instead, I was met with the realization that I would probably die right then and there.

That made me more sad than it did afraid, for some reason. I sucked in a breath and tightened my grip, determined to fight for my last minutes, to stretch them out until I couldn’t hold on any longer. My elbows were locked and screaming in agony.

I looked down, feeling my fingers starting to slip, but, to my surprise the ground was getting closer. The wheel had begun to  _ move _ with me still swinging from it, and suddenly the ground was rushing toward me all at once.

I allowed myself to feel hope, and counted to three before preparing to jump. I knew that I had to time it just right, so that I didn’t break anything, or get crushed by one of the cars on the outdated ride. I gritted my teeth when the time was right and launched forward, my pulse pounding in my ears.

* * *

 

I awoke in a panic, imagining the giant wheel was still bearing down on me, but when my eyes opened, I was resting with my back against my front door. There was a weak light filtering in through our kitchen window; I was nowhere near the abandoned sector of the city. I was safe.

At first I wasn’t sure what woke me, other than maybe my own fear, but I was grateful for it all the same. My back and legs were tingling and sore from sitting in the same position all night on the hard tile. It took me longer than I’d care to admit to understand what I was doing sitting in the doorway - why I’d fallen asleep there, of all places, in a dress - but when the fog of sleep wore off I was smacked full in the chest with memories of my humiliation.

Before I could come to terms with the painful realization, I felt the door shake behind me and heard a grunt of frustration. Christina. I was still blocking the entrance to our apartment - oops. At least I had a good idea of what woke me up. I managed to push myself to my feet, yelping softly at the wave of pain that surged through my limbs, at the sharp bolts of agony that pulsed along my scalp. 

I wasn’t given any time to collect myself before the door flew opened and smacked against the wall, narrowly missing me in the process. I was greeted by the sight of Christina in one of Will’s overlarge sweaters, weighted down with groceries and looking triumphant against her battle with the door.

She was practically glowing with a wide grin on her face, but the moment her eyes drifted from the door to me, her smile vanished and she dropped the bags hanging from her arms to the floor unceremoniously. Without hesitation, leaving the door wide open, she rushed towards me with a horrified expression on her face.

It struck me then that I must have looked really bad, bad enough to warrant the way she was staring. I didn’t like the look she was giving me, it made my stomach twist in a painful way, and my cheeks burn with shame. It made me feel small, and pathetic; I could almost hear Drew’s laugh again in that moment, too high of a pitch and bouncing off the bricks, assaulting me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I was able to notice - primarily by choosing to stare at the floor rather than meet my friend’s gaze - that my overnight bag was nestled among the scattered groceries she’d abandoned. It felt like I’d been sucker punched, like it was insulting me just by being there.

“Holy shit, Tris!” She cried out softly, and I had to agree with her when fresh pain jolted through my temple and down my jaw. Holy shit was appropriate. I felt slightly dizzy, but I’d managed to stay on my feet that long, so it couldn’t have been that bad, right? “What the hell happened to you?”

She gently cupped my face in her hands, turning it from one side to the other - I never thought such a small motion could hurt so much, but my hands instinctively scrunched into fists as I tried not to cry out. Pain shot up my right hand almost as soon as I balled it up, so I unformed that fist as quickly as possible. I’d have to check that out later.

I felt like crying again, but swallowed the urge and closed my eyes instead, focusing on anything pleasant I could grasp. Her hands were cold against my face - soothing the burn of shame and injury alike - it was a small beacon of comfort in a sea of agony.

She was naturally perceptive, as usual, and released my face to grab my dominant hand, hissing through her teeth. That caught my attention, enough to make me open my eyes again, and I glanced in the direction of my aching hand with knitted brows. Well. At least I had a good explanation for the throbbing in my knuckles.

They were an angry red, and deep bruises were already blooming. I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, looking at the damage. There was dried blood smeared on my skin, and I wasn’t sure whether it was mine or Peter’s. I had the sincere hope that his nose was broken.

Peter.

My chest felt like it might have caved in. Not because I cared about him, which I didn’t, but because he had gained all of the leverage he’d ever need to break me down into pieces until there was nothing left. He’d gotten everything I didn’t want him to have. The memories of laughter - of Molly’s fist, of Peter’s little game - were still fresh and raw, yet I kept picking at them.

I didn’t mean to sob, but the noise escaped me all the same. Christina threw her arms around me, and I buried my face in her shoulder; the tears came without my permission. We stood like that for a while, until my tears were gone and I had nothing in me but weak hiccups and heavy breathing. She didn’t make me talk, in fact, she just gently guided me down the hall and sat me on the edge of the bathtub.

She couldn’t  have known that her hand on my back was cold, and small. That it was the exact opposite of Peter’s. That I was grateful for those things. She knelt in front of me, grabbing for a little container full of damp sheets of cloth that smelled vaguely like perfume, or soap.

The whole time she worked, lightly dabbing at my face, I was a sniffling mess, but she kept murmuring soft, comforting words. Part of me hated it - I was stronger than all of this - but it was nice to remember there were people with hearts as big as Christina’s was.

She helped me clean my face, scrubbing away the mask she’d given me, the one I’d ruined with my tears. When I finally looked in the mirror I was myself again - although I couldn’t remember a time I had ever been that sickly looking. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot, my nose bright red, but all of those things paled in comparison to the souvenirs that Molly had left me.

On the side she’d punched me, I had a large, purple bruise roughly the size of a fist. It ran along the side of my cheekbone and right up to the middle of my ear, staining me. When I touched it, the area was electrified with pain, and I immediately jerked away to inspect the other side. This one wasn’t as bad as far as coloration, but was far more painful.

There was a knot the size of a golf ball on the side of my head, presumably from how hard I’d hit it on the door. It was peppered with bright red, and soft purple markings, letting me know the damage was far from healed.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror when Christina brought me a pair of fluffy black pants, and a baggy long sleeved sweater. She was watching me with concerned eyes as I took the clothes from her and folded them, leaving them sitting on the edge of the sink. I hated this. I hated feeling weak and defenseless and broken. I’d get Peter back for that..somehow.

“He didn’t..” She couldn’t say it, but she motioned to all of me, and I got the general idea of what she was hinting at. I felt my lower lip wobble and the world swam around me in an instant. I hated that I still had tears left, but shook my head firmly all the same. I couldn’t have her thinking that - she’d blame herself somehow.

I hated that she thought I was weak enough to let that happen to me, but then, I’d been weak enough to let myself be trapped so why not that, too? I didn’t want her to even consider that I wouldn’t have killed him on the spot if he even dreamed of touching me like that, without my permission, forcibly. I didn’t say that, though.

“Oh God no, Chris. No.” My voice was cracked and sounded nothing like me. I hated it. Peter had stripped away my strength, made me hate myself, and I couldn’t forgive that. I felt bare. “I’ll..I’ll tell you about it..after a shower,” I offered, bending over the tub to turn on the water, my ribs protested at the tight material that was stretched across my torso and I hissed through my teeth. I’d have to be careful not to ruin her dress. 

She didn’t respond, but I could hear her behind me, walking back to the door of the bathroom. I bit my lip, speaking quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the rushing water, “Thank you..” I knew I shouldn’t have been as shaken up as I was. Thinking on it, I should have been angry, livid, he’d only embarrassed me, after all. He hadn’t hurt me, not really. He couldn’t hurt me, that would have meant that I cared. Which I didn’t. So why did it sting like that? I hated it.

“I’m so sorry, Tris..” Christina’s voice was full of pity, and I hated that, too. One look in the mirror when the dress fell let me know that my ribs on the left side were painted with a light bruise, nothing like my face had been, but still enough to hurt.

It didn’t go without notice that I had round bruises on each of my biceps in the shape of Peter’s fingers, too. They’d used me as a canvas for their cruelty, and I’d be looking at the marks for days, if not a week or more.

Hot water was going to do wonders for me.

* * *

“That little scumbag!” 

A little over an hour since I’d woken up had left me curled up on our sofa in clean clothes, feeling a slightly more human. Between the warm shower and Christina’s presence the pain was a little more of an irritation. Everything was easier when she was involved, after all.

She’d given me some medicine for my bruises, and gotten us a makeshift breakfast from the coffee shop across the street. During my shower she’d put the groceries away, and my overnight bag was sitting on the couch, now, mocking me. I hadn’t touched it.

“I can’t believe we let him take you home without following--” I held my hand up and scowled at her - it still surprised me to see bruises peppered over the rough skin of my knuckles - I refused to let her accept guilt for Peter’s crimes.

“No. Don’t do that. I’m..fine, it’s over with,” I needed to distract her, to push the topic somewhere else. We’d been talking about what happened for the last fifteen minutes or so, I didn’t want to keep saying his name, that only made it worse. “All he did was embarrass me, and it shook me up. That’s not your fault.”

“So how was  _ your _ date?” And those were the magic words, apparently, because her eyes lit up and she sat a little straighter. I was pretty sure that at least part of her eagerness was for my benefit, if she really knew me, she knew that I didn’t like to talk about my problems, and Peter was definitely a problem.

I knew I’d just opened the floodgates, but I didn’t really mind. A happy story for a change would probably do me some good. I hadn’t realized it until Christina showed up earlier, but I’d been sorely deprived of contact with people who weren’t sour, and rotten, and full of hate like I’d become. I needed desperately to cling to her goodness, it made the hole in my chest a tiny bit more bearable.

“It was amazing, Tris. I mean, that place was so gorgeous - I know you know that, sorry - I just..wow. It was..” She was struggling for words, and I had to laugh as she broke into giggles amid chopped sentences about how romantic the whole thing was and how no one had ever treated her the way Will had.

Apparently, even after four years, they still had a lot to talk about, new subjects to approach. I guess it would be easier to talk about things you had in common when you weren’t butting heads and arguing about everything. She was just about to go into detail about dessert, and how grossly cute the both of them were, when her phone started ringing.

I felt bad for the relief that flooded through me at not having to hear about the rest of their date - I was happy for them, but it was going to take a while to erase the image of them giving one another gushy looks from across the table, and talking about their feelings.

A knot tied itself tightly in my stomach, making me feel sick. Absentmindedly I grabbed for the ice pack Christina had given me earlier, and pressed it against the lump on my head. The sensation and pressure made my scalp tingle with fresh pain, but it was duller than before. More bearable.

I tried not to listen to her conversation, but I knew it was Will -she had a special smile, reserved for him, I wasn’t sure she knew that, though - so I gave up on being polite and watched her closely.

After their initial greeting her eyes widened and the smile he’d put on her face dipped back into a worried frown as she glanced at me; my stomach did an uncomfortable flip as I imagined Peter strutting in and bragging to Will about what he’d done to me. Surely he had, wasn’t that the point of embarrassing me like that, to make sure everyone knew?

Come to think of it, how had he not shoved all of that in Christina’s face? They had to have crossed paths for him to give my bag to her, right? He wouldn’t have just left it out for the taking, he wasn’t the kind of person to give anyone an inch of peace. He was too cruel for that.

Had he sent out copies of the picture Drew took by now, just to make me look bad? That seemed childish, but what he and his friends had done to me last night had been childish, too. While I’d been busy in my head, I nearly missed the entire conversation between Will and Christina, coming in as she lowered her voice and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

“I had a lot of fun, too. Look, uh, I know we’re supposed to meet up for lunch today but..is there any way I can give you a rainche-- Tris!” I grabbed the phone from her hands, and she looked at me like I’d slapped her across the face, grabbing for it almost immediately.

I held my hand out to her, pushing away any attempts to retrieve the device while I leaned my head away. I’d dropped my ice pack and my head was throbbing, but that wasn’t important. I wouldn’t be the reason she didn’t spend time with Will, I didn’t need to be babysat. Truthfully I was happy at the idea of getting some time to myself anyway.

“Ignore Christina - she’s going, she’s just being stupid.”

“Tris? What’s going on?” Will seemed surprised to hear my voice.

“Nothing, seriously - she thought we made plans but it turns out,” I looked at her pointedly, she just rolled her eyes in response, “that I have my own plans, so she’s all yours.”

“Oh..are you sure?”

“One hundred percent positive.” I handed the phone back without waiting for a response, and stuck my tongue out at Christina. She was pouting at me with her arms crossed over her chest, begrudgingly moving so that she could take the phone back and apologize for confusing him.

Regardless of her irritation, she quickly confirmed their plans, sighing heavily when the call ended. I was grateful that she’d given in to me, I didn’t want to ruin their date just because I’d made a poor judgement call.

I didn't need her hanging around feeling sorry for me all day, anyway, what I needed was to find a proper distraction, I wasn’t ready to sit down and sort through everything that had happened on my own. She stared at me silently, raising her brows, and I knew I was about to get an earful. I didn’t give her time to start up the lecture I knew she was itching to throw at me.

“Seriously, Chris, just because I had a shitty night doesn’t mean you’re cancelling your plans.” I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring her, and shot her a stern look. If I was the reason they couldn’t spend time together and be happy, Peter would win. Again. I refused to let him poison anything else in my life.

I’d sat back and watched Christina and Will’s slow, irritating journey towards a relationship for a long time, and if I came between that with my problems, I’d never forgive myself. For that reason I smiled at her, even though I still felt brittle, and cold, and empty. I wasn’t ready to smile yet, but I did anyway, because she needed it more than I needed to sulk.

“Tris, promise me you’ll be okay, I don’t mind rescheduling if you need me. I wasn’t there before when those thugs were giving you such a hard time I just..don’t want you to deal with all of this alone again..”

I rolled my eyes and shrugged, “I’m okay, really. I’m making this bigger than it is - I mean, seriously, all they did was laugh at me - and okay, yeah, Molly messed me up, but if I get down I’ll just remember exactly what it sounded like when I punched Peter in his stupid face, okay?” That made her laugh, so I joined in, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

Convinced that I wouldn’t fall to pieces without her, she got up and hugged me before heading down the hall to get cleaned up and ready for her lunch. I rubbed the center of my chest and took deep breaths, telling myself that I wasn’t jealous of her happiness. That wasn’t fair to her. I was happy for her, happy because she was happy. It was too bad about that whole being a terrible liar thing at times like these.

What was I even jealous of, anyway? It wasn’t like the idea of being in a relationship was something I’d pined over the way she had. It rarely even crossed my mind. I glanced over at my bag and almost laughed at the realization that fear raced through me - that I was scared of a sack of dirty clothes.

Oh. And my journal.

My eyes widened as I remembered why I even went on that stupid date in the first place. The dream journal! I scrambled up towards the bag, and nearly recoiled when I caught the scent of Peter - his taint had seeped into my things, and I hated it.

I could imagine he even sprayed it down with his cologne, just for a last laugh. For a moment I considered moving out of the openness of the den, but quickly remembered that my phone was in my room and decided to stay right where I was.

Cautiously I sifted through the re-purposed gym bag, ready for whatever traps or nastiness Peter had left behind as a secondary attack. It would have been just like him to do something like that - I could already imagine it would be filled with copies of Drew’s picture from last night. Maybe he even kept my journal, threw my clothes out. It would serve me right for being so stupid.

Other than the soap and shampoo Christina grabbed out of the side pocket earlier, nothing seemed to be missing, in fact there was an additional item in there. I scowled at the sight of a large manila envelope addressed to me in a messy scrawl.

If he wanted to torture me with the picture, I doubted that he’d have gone through the effort of packing it in an envelope that I could easily throw away without seeing it. I could feel paper inside and decided it must have been some sort of letter. It felt thick. Two thoughts occurred to me simultaneously.

I should read it.

I should burn it.

I did neither, choosing to shove it deeper into the bag and grab my notebook instead. I would open the envelope when my wounds were less fresh. Staring down at the notebook, I felt trepidation - I didn’t want to read it. I didn’t want to go into my own head. Too real was the memory of Peter’s fists, of sweat and blood and a sparring mat. My stomach churned just holding it, and I huffed.

Instead of reading it, I shoved the thing back in my bag and fished out my clothes. I needed a distraction - laundry was as good as any reason to not read whatever I’d jotted down in those pages. I pictured, even as I got up from the couch and headed for the front door, Peter’s fingers all over its pages, his eyes hungrily drinking in my private world.

I stopped to toe on a pair of shoes and grabbed the small container of washing powder we kept in the kitchen, before heading out into the hall. My stomach did an uncomfortable sort of flip, and I wanted to go back inside almost immediately.

It was an entirely different world in the daylight - there was no eerie green lighting, no Peter standing tall and pretending to protect me - but I could see drops of dried blood just in front of our door, and a trail leaving towards the parking lot.

I’d need to clean that up.

I headed towards the small glass door down near the end of my apartment that led to a tiny room with the communal washer and dryer. It only occurred to me as I was loading the clothes in and twisting the settings to a light load, that I had no idea what I was going to do after that. I didn’t want to stay in the apartment, I didn’t want to go out. I didn’t want to spend time with anyone and I didn’t want to be alone.

Chris and Will were going to be occupied, I considered calling Al up, maybe we would catch a late lunch or watch movies in the apartment. I’d been neglecting him lately. As I walked back to the front door and pointedly looked up to avoid seeing the blood on the floor, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with Peter the night before.

I was beyond believing him, I didn’t much want to go over anything that had to do with him, but there was a burning frustration at the thought that I had no way of knowing whether Peter or Al had been honest..and what that meant if it had been Peter telling the truth.

Al and I had some talking to do. That was all the motivation I’d needed to grab up my phone and dial his number - even if I didn’t need him crooning over my wounds like I knew he would, I needed to start drawing lines, this seemed as good of a time as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahah. I'm so sorry, I promise that..eventually there will be some happiness for our poor babies, but for now enjoy more agony and suffering and just..bad shit. Phew.
> 
> So, as always, your reviews and kudos are appreciated! Let me know what you think, what you'd like to see happen or even what you think might happen! I'd love to hear from all of you.


	8. Mnemonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I got kinda sick :( I'm still not feeling awesome, but I managed to get this wrapped up and ready to post! 
> 
> \--
> 
> Mnemonic  
> (n) something intended to assist the memory as a verse or formula

Al said he’d need a shower before coming over, which gave me enough time to finish the washing cycle and turn my clothes over to the dryer, but not enough to change out of my pajamas. That was the deciding factor in us staying in for the day, rather than going out for lunch. I still had food in the cabinets, so I figured if we got hungry we’d just make whatever we could find. It was a better alternative to going outside and running the risk of seeing Peter and his thugs, anyway.

Some time between loads, Christina came in and wrapped an arm around me, hugging gently. “Last chance, I can still back out,” she offered, making me scowl. She looked beautiful and happy, even if worry marred her features a bit. I shook my head and smiled in what I hoped was a convincing manner.

“I’m good, seriously. Get out of my hair, and go have fun.” Reluctantly she nodded and started for the front door, pausing to glance over her shoulder with one of those radiant smiles of hers that made me wish I could return it earnestly.

“I’ll bring you a dessert on the way back, so don’t fill up on noodles or whatever you plan on eating, okay?” She narrowed her eyes at me before breaking into a fit of laughter - once again I found myself envying her. She was light and happy, enjoying herself, and unafraid of her own flaws. It was something I didn’t entirely understand.

When Al finally showed up, he didn’t knock, which was about what I’d come to expect - Chris had a rule about friends not needing to if they’d already been invited over, and everyone stuck to it pretty well - so I was surprised to find him sitting in my living room as I came around the corner from my room. I’d only just tossed my overnight bag onto my bed, so it wouldn’t be lurking, staring me down, plus it gave us more room to sit on the sofa.

One look at my face had the hulking brunette on his feet, taking three massive steps towards me where he hovered with wide eyes, and a slack jaw. “Jesus, Tris, what happened to you?” Already his cheeks were burning red, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. Not good.

He wasn’t a particularly violent person, usually, but when he did get that way, it wasn’t exactly pretty. An image of him slamming his fist into Will’s face - of Will hitting a soft mat, crumpling  - came to me for a flash, and I had to blink it away. Now was not the time to deal with that kind of nonsense.

“I uh. Got in a fight.” He didn’t look like he believed me, but I turned away and shrugged, moving to sit at the end of our couch with my knees tucked up to my chest. My ribs screamed in protest, but I ignored the burn - he didn’t need to know about all the damage, Christina didn’t even know about the ones on my torso - and forced a half baked smile his way.

“No big deal, it’s just bruises, bet I’ll look way worse after a few weeks in the academy,” I offered, but that didn’t seem to make him any less tense, or angry. He did comply, though, and joined me on the couch. My skin prickled with discomfort when he turned to face me and reached out, as though he planned to cup my face like Christina had earlier.

To avoid that happening, I stood up suddenly - gritting my teeth at the twinge of pain the motion brought - and walked over to our tiny entertainment center and its cheap television, sifting through the movies we’d collected over the last few years. “You hungry?”

“I could eat. How about you work on getting the movie set up, and I’ll make something?” Al offered, still sounding odd, but he was trying. Like I was. He was trying to lie, trying to let my injuries roll off as easily as I seemed to be, and for that I was thankful. I’d been going over it in my head, trying to decide when - and how - would be the best way to bring up the phone conversation.

To bring up whether he’d flat out lied to me or not.

“Sure, help yourself,” I got to work on hooking up the correct wires, and turning the ancient heap of junk on, before deciding on a film. I hummed absently, sifting through titles with very little interest. A lot of them were romantic, or comedic with romantic undertones, and I absolutely didn’t want any of that - especially since it would just be Al and I, I didn’t want to go setting the wrong mood or something - so I opted for one of the murder mysteries. A particularly brutal one, at that.

Once I had everything set up and ready to go, I joined him in our small kitchenette, resting my forearms against the bar like counter that separated our kitchen from the living room. He was standing in front of the stove, flipping what smelled suspiciously like grilled cheese sandwiches. The pot to his left was steaming and I spotted a few opened cans of soup.

I found myself genuinely smiling at the mixing scents of tomato and butter, bread and cheese. They were comforting, to say the least. “Need help with anything, big guy?” I must have spooked him because he flinched and looked to me with wide eyes. His gaze naturally diverted to the dark bruises on my jaw and then the lump on my temple, before he turned back around stiffly.

“I’ve got this, just go sit down, I’ll be done in a few minutes.” He sounded annoyed, though whether that was at me for not telling him about what happened, or at my injuries themselves, I wasn’t sure. Either way I scowled and walked away, fetching a few blankets and settling in on the couch again while I waited.

The smell of comfort food turned my stomach, now that I was annoyed. It didn’t take him long at all to come back around holding a steaming mug of soup and a plate with a sandwich that had been cut into two triangles for me. I raised my brows and thanked him tersely before accepting his offered food.

I was hungry enough to let his attitude earlier slide. He went back for his own food and plopped down on the couch, with his own separate blanket, before I turned the movie on. He scoffed as the title came up and music began to play in the background.

“Do you ever watch anything happy?” He teased, his tone lighter than before, and I shrugged, nibbling on the corner of my sandwich, which only made him laugh. “How do you like it?” I scowled, hearing Peter ask me in his stupid fake polite tone how I liked the restaurant. When would I stop going there in my head?

“It’s good. Thanks.” Guilt burned up my throat at the clipped tone of my voice, but he didn’t complain. We ate in silence, watching a couple pulling off the beaten path on a gravel road in a particularly cringe-worthy, awkward scene that was quickly smashed to pieces by the murderer pulling up and firing bullets into the side window.

I’d seen this particular movie about half a dozen times, but I still let myself get whisked up in it, sitting on the edge of my seat once I’d finished my soup and sandwich. It took all of half an hour before a warm arm draped itself around my shoulders and tensed. I reached up and pushed at the offending limb, feeling it drop harmlessly behind me on the couch.

I figured that was the end of that, and went back to the scene at hand, my mouth set in a firm line. I was having a hard time concentrating, though, all I could focus on was the phantom weight of Al’s arm. He’d done that a few times before, but I’d never thought anything of it until now.

Once again, Al’s arm draped itself across my shoulders and he scooted a few inches closer, all while looking forward, like he wasn’t invading my space, and making me uncomfortable. He’d definitely never done it twice, after being pushed off. What exactly did he think this was? I pushed it off again, good and angry at this point.

“Knock it off seriously what are you-” I turned, expecting him to be a comfortable distance away, but instead, Al was right in front of me, maybe an inch or two from our foreheads touching, and my stomach dropped. Right now was not the appropriate time to be dealing with this kind of bullshit. I was angrier than I should have been by his timid attempts to..what? Seduce me, I suppose.

“Tris look..I..I really, _really_ like you-- a-and, I think you like me, too.”

Damn it.

I sucked in a breath, trying to figure out the most polite way to shut him down. I didn’t want to hurt him, he was Al, he was my friend, but this wasn’t something I could condone. I’d planned out a nice, friendly speech in my head about how we were better as friends, and I wasn’t equipped to deal with a relationship, but the words that left my mouth were not at all the ones I meant to say.

“Why did you lie to me about the phone call, the other day?” That knocked the smile off of his face - he looked wounded, like I’d punched him instead of spoken. Al leaned back a few inches, for which I was grateful, and stared down at his lap with a sour expression.

“I thought you didn’t remember..?” So he did lie. It felt like I’d swallowed a handful of worms and they were all crawling up my stomach, trying to get back out. Peter had told me the truth and _Al_ had lied to me. That didn’t make any sense..except, well, it made all the sense in the world if he’d really breached my privacy like that.

“I didn’t remember. Peter told me.” His face darkened almost immediately at the name, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding together, “What the hell, Al? Since when is _Peter_ more honest than you?”  Even in the dimly lit room, I could see that his face was red, I’d pushed the right buttons, apparently.

“Since you decided to push me away and call that rat bastard instead! I was right _there_ if you needed to talk, but instead, you..you storm off and call him? Have _phone sex_ with him?” His words hit me, hard, filling me with rage and fear. Phone sex? I hadn’t done that - Peter hadn’t said anything about it. Was Al just lying to make me feel bad?

I stood up then, hands balled into fists at my sides, “I didn’t have _any_ kind of sex with Peter, I called to tell him what an asshole he was!” My friend, if I could still call him that, raised his brows with a look of barely disguised rage, and stood, too. He towered over me easily but I wasn’t afraid - he was a coward, he wouldn’t hurt me.

“You sure have a funny way of insulting someone then,” His voice was deadly calm, shaking with the effort of containing his anger. He’d never spoken to me like this before, I would have been proud of him growing a backbone, were he not lying and treating me this way.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ you were laid back against that damn wall, moaning his name! What else could that have been, hm?” His words dripped down my spine like ice and I felt sick, suddenly. Was that true? I was reminded, suddenly, of the way Peter seemed like he wasn’t telling me something about the phone call. Surely I was just seeing things that weren’t there.

I would never have done what Al was accusing me of, would I? I swallowed hard and glared up at him, feeling that same helpless rage from the night before, except this time there was no alcohol in my system weakening or dizzying me. “I don’t believe you..I wouldn’t..I wouldn’t do something like that, and with _him_ of all people!”

“I heard what I heard, Tris..I’m sorry, I..I shouldn’t have lied to you I just..I was so mad.” He stepped forward and I felt sick, I didn’t want to forgive him, and I didn’t want to think about what he’d implied. I wanted to be alone. He reached for me and I side stepped out of the way, picking up my plate and cup to feign a reason for shunting him.

“I’d like to be alone, now.”

“Tris, _please--”_ “Al, I said I want to be alone.” I turned to face him, exhausted, I didn’t have it in me to fight another battle, not when the wounds left by Peter and his thugs were still so raw. His face was veiled in sadness, and what I suspected might have been guilt, too. Good. I hoped he felt terrible.

Al hesitated, looking at me, and then at the floor in his usual fashion. “I..I’m sorry, I’ll uh..I’ll see you later, I guess.” That made my shoulders relax a little, and I even walked him to the door, leaving the dishes in the kitchenette on the way.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said, more out of instinct than out of actual kindness, but it seemed to relax him a bit, so that was probably good. He turned to look at me but I just looked away, my mouth set into a hard line. “Have a good day, Al.” That seemed to do the trick, he sighed and stepped outside without another word, walking dejectedly down the hall and away.

With a heavy sigh, I made my way outside, going down the hall to fetch my clothes from the dryer before someone stole them or threw them on the ground or something. Their warmth was comforting, and they no longer smelled like Peter, so that was a good thing, too. I hurried back inside and set to folding and putting them away.

With that finished, I realized I had nothing to do - I could have gone back in the other room and finished my movie, but the idea made me feel sick to my stomach - so instead, I found myself reaching for my dream journal. I sat cross legged with it in my lap and flipped it open - hopefully it would serve as a good distraction from my problems.

I narrowed my eyes as I read over the first page, a strange mix of fear and nervousness twirling together at the sight of my handwriting. I didn’t remember being this detailed when I wrote in it, but then, I’d never actually read any of it before.

I’d been putting it off, thanks to all the studying, and then of course Peter had stolen it, so I had no way of reading it at that point. I discovered quickly that there were pages from before I’d woken up with the journal under my face, and settled in to read those, first. I could have sworn that had been the day I started writing, but there were some entries dated a few weeks before that.

Some of the pages had rough sketches of places that I’d seen in dreams, others had notes in the margins, things that I seemed to have remembered separately from the timeline of events I’d recorded, or that didn’t correspond directly with what I’d been writing.

In the margin on a page describing a dream about lining up with other people my age, of cutting our hands and dripping blood into bowls filled with various, strange contents, I saw a string of words that felt familiar enough to make my stomach twist.

Abnegation; Selfless; No vanity (i.e.: no mirrors - could explain discomfort) ; Stiff; Dauntless - I am brave. Divergent; Selfish;

There was a messy sketch of two hands cupped together that filled my chest with a warm memory I couldn’t quite grasp. Next to it was a patch of flames that make me feel a sense of pride, although I had absolutely no clue as to why.

The following pages were filled with scenes that took place in a terrifyingly constant world that I’d only gotten snippets of in dreams, and phantom memories until now. I felt slightly dizzy as I read a passage about running in a pack of Dauntless, whatever that was, and cutting off a bus together - of jumping on a moving train and diving from the top of a building.

Most of things in my notebook were new to me, I didn’t recall hardly any of the dreams written, and I definitely didn’t remember writing them. What was even more terrifying - or exciting, depending on how I looked at it - was that as I was reading the passages, I could easily call images to mind, I knew what the places and people looked like without much trouble. I began furiously scribbling notes in where I could fit them.

Without meaning to, I wound up sitting at my desk, focusing on typing up as much of the information as possible. I had two separate documents side by side, one for the margin notes and the other for the dreams themselves. I couldn’t tell you how long I sat there, pouring over those pages, typing mechanically.

Not once during the process did I think about what happened last night, or Al, or anything other than this bizarre dream world that seemed eerily similar to my own. It was a wonderful distraction, to say the very least.

As I typed each line, I worked on filling in the blanks where I could with the fresh memories triggered by the journal. One of the first things I managed to put anything into, that wasn’t previously written down, was the phrase “first jumper” - it only made sense to me that it had something to do with my jumping from the roof of that building, Dauntless headquarters, and when I put it together with the rest of that experience it felt like I’d perfectly placed a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

It slowly began to feel less like I was categorizing insane dreams, and more like I was remembering a life I’d never lived. I could almost feel the wind ripping at my clothes, and when I closed my eyes, I found it easy to picture the scene. It felt like I’d touched a live wire as I began to recognize previously blurred faces in the crowd of people behind me. The image behind my lids was less a dream and more a memory.

I quickly recognized Christina, Will and Al, and even managed to spot Uriah with that huge grin on his face, accompanied by sour Lynn and pleasant Marlene. I peered through the crowd until I got closer to the front, and was met by a frustratingly familiar shade of green glaring up at me. My eyes snapped open and my stomach churned - Peter, Drew, and Molly had been there.

In the notes document, I typed up the order I recognized faces in, what they were wearing, their expressions. All of it. For some reason, the fact that everyone in the crowd looked like they were wearing uniforms felt very important to me.

Before long I began to realized that my original interest in the journal was fading into obsession. I couldn’t describe to you the desperation that pushed me to pick apart and analyze my dreams, to find an answer in it all. My gut was telling me that it was more than an overactive imagination, that there was something inherently important about what I’d been experiencing.

I wanted to believe that these weren’t dreams, that they were memories, telling myself that I couldn’t imagine so many faces I didn’t know like that, alongside the ones I did. Something in me easily attacked that argument, reminding me I could, that I could easily have been pulling the memories of faces from people in school, and this was all one big placebo.

I might have believed that, relaxed into knowing that I’d just let my stress create a world without all the hassle of college and the academy, if it weren’t for one small fact. I’d never been this creative in my entire life. I couldn’t have imagined the choosing ceremony, the wide room packed with colorful strangers that it took place in. I couldn’t dream up the Abnegation uniform that I wore in my memories, that I’d torn off a part of it, and thrown it in Peter’s face as one of my first acts of defiance. That he’d called me Stiff.

By the time I was able to finish typing up a huge portion of my dreams, my hands were shaking; the clock told me I’d been pouring over everything for nearly five hours. The journal still had quite a few pages to go, but I was suddenly afraid to finish it, though I did take time to add in what I could remember about the ferris wheel dream, as well the one where I’d had a sparring match with Peter just the other night.

Some time in the middle of all of that, I let myself rest my head on my desk and fell asleep, my mind swimming with memories and experiences that were beginning to feel more realistic than my current existence.

Maybe I was going crazy.

* * *

 I dedicated the next few days to the journal. Ever since I’d started really focusing on it, I’d begun to remember more of my dreams without having to read about them, and the few dreams I had between my waking hours were vivid; the details were easy to pick apart and describe. I didn’t find it as surprising as I used to when people I knew personally tended to feature in the scenes of my sleeping world.

It had become almost comforting. Christina had tried a couple different times to goad me into leaving my room and going out, but each time, I turned her away. There was an inexplicable urgency to what I was doing. The more I delved in and made sense of the jumbled phrases and dreams, the more I felt it tingling up the back of my neck. The need to finish it. It felt more important than anything I’d ever done.

I knew I was close to something big, I just couldn’t seem to figure out what exactly that was. During my reading, I learned that The Pit was a huge part of my life in the dream world, a part of my home, there. It wasn’t a bar in that world, no, it was a hub of communication, and it had absolutely no railings or safety measures. It was raw and untouched by security the way it was in the waking world.

After nearly a week of living in my room, only coming out when I absolutely needed to for bare essentials, I’d caught up to the dream I’d had only the night before, to my last written page in the journal.

I’d been standing against a target in the room most of my dreams happened in - a training room that had the ever constant smell of dust, sweat and metal - and the man who helped me out of the net after I’d jumped in a previous dream, was throwing knives at my head. I felt like I should have known him, but even in the waking world I couldn’t put a name to his face. In my dreams he was called Four - but that didn’t help me. I didn’t know anyone with that kind of name.

I remembered seeing Eric Coulter very clearly, many times, in this particular dream he seemed to be egging the man named Four on to torture me. I remembered my anger, too. Just thinking about it was making my neck and face burn with a rage I couldn't release. I stopped typing in the middle of a paragraph, leaving the cursor to blink at me, unfinished.

I needed to do something to distract myself, my hands were shaking again. When was the last time I’d eaten something more substantial than noodles? Without any excuse to stay inside, I pushed away from the computer, after turning it off.

I couldn’t sit in there and pour over the words anymore. I was beginning to feel like I didn’t exist in my own world, like the dreams were sucking me in and away from reality - I was sure I’d worried my friends with my absence. Christina had stopped checking in on me a few days ago.

I stretched my arms over my head and pushed my door open, blinking the bleariness away from my eyes only to see an afterimage of my monitor burned into my retinas. When I stepped out of my room, I almost immediately spotted three heads in the living room pulled together, one blonde and two brunette.

With more ease than I truly felt, I stepped forward until I was close enough to drape my arms over the couch, so that I had one hand on Al’s shoulder and the other on Will’s, while my chin rested on top of Christina’s head. They each jumped, and in the time it took for me to stand upright and pull my arms back to my sides, they each had spun around to face me.

I must have looked awful, their expressions were matching sets of wide eyes and slack jaws. “Having fun without me?” I was surprised at how my voice croaked. When was the last time I’d had an actual conversation with someone? Had it been when Al was over? Probably. I didn’t count the one sided, short talks Chris had with me, trying to convince me to go out. I thought of my phone, then, abandoned in the corner of my room, I still hadn’t checked it.

“She lives!” Will chirped, suddenly I felt grateful for having taken a shower earlier that morning, now that I was faced with the three of them. It was easier to feel human, and whole, when my hair wasn’t falling around my shoulders in limp threads.

I peered at them, feeling a strange sense of vertigo - for a moment I was struck by the memory of being slung over Al’s shoulder in the pit; of Christina’s laughter mingling with Will’s as it bounced off the rocky walls  - at the wave of homesickness that washed over me.

The feeling terrified me.

It must have shown on my face, because suddenly Will looked as though he swallowed something foul and Christina smacked his arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t..I uh, it’s, good to see you.” He stuttered, which snapped me out of my own little world. The one I’d been living in to pretend the present didn’t exist. I shook my head and smiled as best as I could, rolling my shoulders in a shrug.

“No you’re..it’s okay, I’ve just been tired from all the cramming we did with exams and everything. I feel a lot better, now,” I lied uneasily, it was hard to swallow, and Christina looked at me like she didn’t believe that one bit, but they accepted my apology all the same.

Al spoke up in a tone that didn’t sound like I’d turned him down only a week prior, “Hey, don’t apologize, it’s totally understandable. Those exams were rough,” It didn’t make me feel good at all that he was so willing to take what I said to heart. Did that mean he’d blame the way I’d acted the last time we’d been together on that? I hoped not.

I came around to sit on the couch with them, Will was in the middle, so I choose to sit on Christina’s side, the furthest from Al. The soft eyed look he was giving me wasn’t helping at all with the urge to disappear into my room again.

I still knew next to nothing about the dreams I was having, about the bigger picture, but it had to be important that those three had such a big role in them. It had to be more than me just filling them in subconsciously, didn’t it?

I bit the inside of my cheek and tilted my head, waiting for someone to talk again. My stomach growled, first, cutting the silence in half and causing them to erupt into laughter. At least it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Will shot up first, offering his hand to Christina, and Al looked  as though he might have been planning to follow suit, so I pressed my palms to the cushions below me and vaulted myself upright before he had a chance.

“I guess that answers our debate,” I must have looked as confused as I felt, because Christina laughed before explaining herself. “We’ve been twiddling our thumbs, trying to decide what we wanted to do to pass the time. Al didn’t feel like going anywhere too big, I don’t  want to sit in and watch movies and--” “And _I_ don’t care what we do as long as we do _something_ ,” Will interjected with a cheeky sort of grin.

Why did I keep letting these three get so distant from me, when I felt so strongly about being near them? I realized with a start that for the last week I hadn’t felt removed from them, if anything it felt like I’d been closer than ever, thanks to the dreams.

That thought alone made me suddenly wary of diving back into my journal - I couldn’t allow myself to continue warping reality like that. “Oh, well, I guess let me get dressed and we’ll go, if that works for you guys?”

* * *

 

Sitting around a table, laughing with the people who meant the world to me, had helped significantly in bringing me back to the real world - suddenly my dreams seemed ridiculous and childish - and I felt more at peace than I had in weeks, months even.

I wasn’t sure if Will or Al know about what happened with Peter, surely he’d bragged about it by now, but if they did, they were polite enough not to mention it. I was eternally grateful for that fact, if he managed to find his way into our everyday conversations, that would just be another win for him.

I needed to stop seeing him in shadows, lurking and ready to pounce. His fingerprints had been smudging and staining all that I loved for too long. I couldn’t have that. He meant nothing to me, and I wasn’t afraid of him, so it was my job to not give him more power than he deserved. I decided then that he was no more than an annoyance to me - I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me down.

My need to escape the world I’d nearly let myself disappear into had landed us in a small, family operated pizza shop I’d never even heard of before. The air was hot, and dry, it carried the scents of cooking bread and thickly seasoned sauces - everything about it was inherently new and right then, new was exactly what I needed.

I managed to stay engaged in our conversation for the majority of the night, though nothing worth repeating was said. It mostly involved catching me up on what I’d missed in the last week: how they’d started working out for the physical part of the academy, the studying that had been going on, how Christina and Will’s relationship was panning out.

I was invested entirely, and went through our entire meal without saying a word about the dream world that had nearly consumed me. One look at their faces, and how normal and real everything was, told me they wouldn’t understand. I didn't even understand.

“So are we still touring the academy today?” Al asked, giving me in particular a pointed look, like he didn’t want to straight out ask me if I’d forgotten our plans. I absolutely had. I wondered, briefly, if Christina would have reminded me at all, if I hadn’t chosen to join them for lunch, but I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

My pocket buzzed, letting me know that I had a new message, but I ignored that. Anyone I wanted to hear from was sitting across from me at the table. I still hadn’t found the courage to answer my unopened texts, I hadn’t even looked to see who they were from, only that there were fifteen of them, and a few missed calls.

I didn’t even consider seeing who it was or what they wanted. Instead, I focused on eating the piping hot triangle of food in front of me and listening as Christina and Will argued over whether we were supposed to be there at eleven or eleven fifteen. The smile that pulled at my features felt foreign, and I wondered when the last time I’d actually smiled was.

On my date, my brain reminded me without kindness, making me feel sick. My stomach clenched and, suddenly, I didn’t have an appetite. Guess that was another point to Peter. I offered the remainder of my food to everyone else, and they took it happily. I was smiling, so they didn’t ask if I was okay.

Part of me wished they would have.

Most of me was grateful they didn’t.

* * *

The tour itself was nothing to write home about - it was about what you’d expect out of a police operated building. Clean and no nonsense. A lot of long hallways filled with too many windows, and painfully bright lighting that made my head hurt; a lot of speeches that told us little to nothing while saying more than necessary just to relish in the sound of their own voices.

I learned very little about the actual academy, and we couldn’t even visit the dorms until it was time for us to stay, currently they were being renovated and cleaned up, prepared for us. That had been a disappointment.

We were introduced to a few people I’d never heard of, and given speeches by them as well, the names didn’t stick, but I did notice that the majority of them were covered in piercings and tattoos, and had scars on their knuckles. They were a hardened people. My brain flashed to the word Dauntless like it was second nature, but I tried to ignore that thought.

It was only as I was following Christina and Will towards the exit after that absolutely _thrilling_ thirty minute tour - and brief explanation of what would be expected of us during our training - that I felt something crinkle in my pocket. That was odd.

I reached inside and found a sheet of notebook paper, roughly crumbled and folded. There was a message, a messy scrawl written in blue pen, asking me to visit the public restroom on the main floor once our tour was finished. That was even more strange than the realization that this had been slipped into my pocket without my noticing it. The only signature was the letter N at the bottom.

I frowned and crumpled it up into a ball, considering ignoring it, but I was curious, and curiosity would one day be the death of me. Instead of continuing straight, I veered to the left, towards the sign that pointed out the direction of the restrooms. When Will looked over his shoulder, shooting me a questioning look, I pointed to the sign and shrugged. His only response was a thumbs up before he turned back around, letting it go at that. Watching how naturally his arm draped itself around Christina, and how she instinctively leaned into him, made me smile.

I glanced from one side of the hall to the other with an odd sense of urgency, before stepping into the bathroom. It was unremarkable; clean, covered in white to the point it hurt to really look at any one thing, especially since the stalls were made of a reflective metal. Even the counter tops bounced light harshly at me, but it was easy to look away when I spotted a figure leaning against the far wall of the bathroom, arms crossed.

She was pretty, not gorgeous, but far prettier than I was. Her skin was a warm brown color, and popped out against her dark hair - nearly black in this light - her body was draped in a jumpsuit, the uniform of a custodian. She had a stern look to her; was this the mysterious N who slipped a note in my pocket without alerting me?

She looked past me to the door, and waited for a few moments, long enough for me to realize that she was making sure there wasn’t anyone else coming in behind me.

“Look - we need to be quick; I don’t know how much you remember, or know, but I know you’ve got an insanely high resistance to serums, so I have to hope that you remember something.” I stared at her as she talked, trying to pick apart anything in the words she’d thrown at me that I recognized.

The term serum made me feel like I remembered something, a dull ache in my throat, a strange tasting liquid, but it was nothing solid enough for me to grasp. “My name is Juanita - I’d prefer you call me Nita, if that’s okay. I know you’re confused, Tris, but you’re the last hope I have.” Desperation looked powerful on Nita.

“I..how do you know my name?” I didn’t trust her. I wanted to, though.

“I..it’s..complicated. I can explain that later, right now I need to know if you remember any of it.”

“Remember any of what? You’re not making any sense,” I pinched my eyebrows together, frustration burning in my chest and felt a bubble of panic rising up from within, though I couldn’t explain why. Why did that stranger’s nonsense scare me so much? I thought of the dreams, and immediately dismissed them, it was idiotic to think she was talking about that.

“Look, this,” She gestured around herself widely, and I wasn’t sure if she meant the room, or the building, our meeting, or something more than that, but I didn’t interrupt her to ask, “Is all fabrication - it’s repurposed from a different life. Your _real_ life, Tris, and I need to know you remember that. You have to remember it.”

Her words were sharp and jittery, she sounded like someone on their last legs, not at all like the confident woman she’d been just moments before. I was stuck on her words, chewing on the phrase _real life_ , and I wasn’t sure I knew what she meant. Except, whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was beginning to think that I might have understood what she was implying, after all. I laughed.

“You’re..you sound insane..” Her face dropped immediately. I considered walking away, my hands were balled up into fists at my sides to keep them from shaking. I didn’t know her, or anything about her, I certainly did _not_ owe her the privacy of my dreams. It felt too much like letting her take a walk through my brain if I were to talk about them.

I wanted to tell her. I needed to tell someone.

“I..maybe I’ve made a mistake,” Her voice was harder now, resigned. She pushed away from the wall and I thought she meant to just brush past me, but at the last moment she stopped, and put a hand on my shoulder, passing me a slip of paper with numbers written on it. “If you remember, even if you don’t know what it is you’re remembering..call me.”

I should have let it end there, let her walk away and never think about all of this again. She released me and reached for the door handle, and suddenly I found it hard to breathe, like all the air in the room had been sucked out and I was left gasping. Her words ran through my head, racing in circles, taunting me.

What if the dreams were real? What if they were my reality, and this was the false reality? What if I wasn’t crazy after all?

What did that mean for me?

“Wait.” I didn’t remember deciding to say that, or turning around to face her, giving her the most serious expression I think I’d ever held, but it did the trick. She turned to face me, brows upraised.

She didn’t speak, just crossed her arms again and looked at me expectantly, her eyes were less stern than her face was. In them I saw fear and hope mingling together, and suddenly the words were spilling out of me, pouring off of my tongue and filling the room with my secrets, With the world I’d kept to myself up until this point.

Her eyes lit up, the longer I talked, and I wanted to stop, I wanted to keep some of this for myself, she didn’t need it all, it was mine. My life, I thought, with a fear so real it sent shudders down my spine, but I couldn't stop.

Nita drank up my words like they kept her alive, and so I told her everything, laid it out bare until I had nothing left to give. She stared at me for a long time, with a big smile on her face, and I felt like my knees might have collapsed beneath me at any moment.

I’d said it - I’d said it all, not to my friends, but this woman I didn’t even know. She didn’t look at me like I was crazy, or over imaginative, if anything, it almost felt like she was impressed with me. Her hands lifted to her head, fingers combing through her hair, and she let out a short laugh, laced with more emotion than I could have appropriately described.

“That’s..that’s amazing, Tris. You remember way more than I expected - I mean, it seems like it’s sort of isolated to your training at Dauntless, but maybe that’s just a stimulus from spending all your time around your fellow faction members.” My head was spinning, she wasn’t making any sense, but I didn’t tell her that.

“This is..wow. I need to talk to Matthew about this - just..woah.” Her eyes found mine, and I was amazed to see how thrilled she was. I felt hollow, and terrified, but I seemed to have breathed life back into her. No. Not life - hope. The realization hit me like a bag of bricks. No one could be that happy over dreams. I didn't even stop to wonder who Matthew was, or whether I wanted her telling him about me, I was too overwhelmed.

“Are you telling me that stuff is real - that..that it actually happened to me?” Her smile widened, she didn’t see the terror that was filling me up from all sides. She was ecstatic. I’d really jumped on moving trains, leapt off of buildings - nearly died on a ferris wheel? My heart pounded against my chest. I’d really fought and lost to Peter.

“Yes - Tris. Yes. All of it’s real, there’s tons more but I can’t tell you about it right now, you’ve already been in here too long. They’re going to get suspicious - just..you can’t tell anyone about this. I’d assume the Bureau knows you’re remembering things, they’d be able to see you keeping the journal and they’d know if you put it on your computer.

Either they’re going to try and erase you again or they’ll let you remember...maybe it's part of the experiment.” There was a buzzing in my ears, and once more I found it difficult to breathe. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I got the feeling that it was very bad.

What was the Bureau, and why would they have known about my journal, or my computer? What experiment was she talking about? She seemed to realize that I was confused, because she stopped talking abruptly, pursing her lips. Nita ran a hand through her hair, one hand gripping her elbow and the other resting under her chin.

“So I’m just supposed to..what? Believe you that my whole life has been one big fat lie - that in reality I live in an insane world where people jump out of moving trains and throw knives at people’s heads regularly?” She nodded, making me feel sick.

“Just..don’t talk about it to anyone - keep it to yourself. Give me your number, though, I’ll be in touch when I learn something new. They can read into your device just as easily as they can your computer, so don’t send me anything specific and don’t mention me by name - just..short, simple messages.” She looked thoughtful for a long moment and then smiled,

“I’m so happy you remember, this is a huge step for us..thank you for meeting with me. I know this is all hard to believe but..I’ll get you proof, soon.” I nodded, suddenly eager to get out of the bathroom, and away from her. It felt like a wasp has made a nest in my brain and there were dozens of the creatures flying around in there, making it hard to concentrate over the insanity and chaos within.

Nita took down my contact information, and sent me out of the bathroom, after making me wash my hands. I felt like I was operating on autopilot. Christina was standing at the entrance by herself and smiled when I came up to her, explaining that Will had to head home. I nodded slowly, and she frowned at me, but didn’t ask. I loved her for it.

I wasn’t ready to lie - she’d know I was doing it - so I was glad for the silence, it let me decide how I’d approach the next situation. I wondered then, whether I should have believed Nita or not, after all, she hadn’t given me any proof other than knowing about my dreams.

Then I thought of the journal, of my computer, and of the mysterious ‘they’ she mentioned. The Bureau. She talked like they were watching our every move, examining us in some giant experiment. That was insane.

Just as insane as recurring dreams featuring the same people and the same world, in a constant, forward moving timeline. Just as insane as how sure I was that Nita was telling the truth, even though I didn’t want to believe it.

My dreams were real.

No.

My dreams were _memories_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Okay, I know that was a lot to pack into one chapter, but I didn't want to cut this into two very short ones and drag it out, so..sorry for all the jumping around and whatnot. Thank you to everyone that's stuck around and read this, I appreciate all your kind words and support! 
> 
> It'll be a few weeks, if not a month or two, before I get the second part of the series up and rolling. Since I decided after writing this entire series that I wanted to change the tense from present to past, I've been updating the chapters each week, so that hasn't given me any time at all to actually write up the next chunk of the story. 
> 
> With the holidays and it being our busy season at work, I won't have as much time to dedicate towards writing, but I /will/ be posting the next one eventually, this won't be discontinued or put on hiatus! I just prefer to have a story as a whole written before I start posting, so that I don't lose motivation or steam and not write it, or give you a half assed chapter just to meet a deadline.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed everything so far - and keep an eye out for the little one shot of Tris' drunk phone call to Peter - it's not much, but it's something!


End file.
